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Waverley, Or 'Tis Sixty Years
Hence,
by Sir Walter Scott
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Title: Waverley, Or 'Tis Sixty Years Hence, Complete
Author: Sir Walter Scott
Release Date: October 25, 2006 [EBook #5998]
Language: English
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WAVERLEY ***
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WAVERLY
WAVERLY, By Sir Walter Scott
WAVERLEY
OR
'TIS SIXTY YEARS SINCE
Complete
BY SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART.
With Introductory Essay and Notes
By ANDREW LANG
With Illustrations
1893
THIS NEW EDITION OF THE WAVERLEY NOVELS IS
DEDICATED TO THE HON. MRS. MAXWELL SCOTT OF
ABBOTSFORD AND HER CHILDREN,
Walter, Mary, Michael, Alice, Malcolm
Margaret and Herbert
GREAT-GRANDDAUGHTER AND
GREAT-GREAT-GRANDCHILDREN OF THE AUTHOR,
BY THE PUBLISHERS
TO
THE KING'S MOST GRACIOUS MAJESTY.
SIRE,
The Author of this collection of Works of Fiction would not have
presumed to solicit for them your Majesty's august patronage, were it
not that the perusal has been supposed in some instances to have
succeeded in amusing hours of relaxation, or relieving those of languor,
pain, or anxiety, and therefore must have so far aided the warmest wish
of your Majesty's heart, by contributing in however small a degree to
the happiness of your people.
They are therefore humbly dedicated to your Majesty, agreeably to
your gracious permission, by
Your Majesty's Dutiful Subject, WALTER SCOTT.
ABBOTSFORD, 1st January, 1829.
CONTENTS.
EDITOR'S NOTE
ADVERTISEMENT
GENERAL PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION OF WAVERLEY
APPENDIX
No. I. Fragment of a Romance which was to have been entitled Thomas
the Rhymer. Chapter I. No. II. Conclusion of Mr. Strutt's Romance of
Queen-Hoo Hall. Chapter IV., Chapter V. No. III. Anecdote of School
Days
EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION TO WAVERLEY
INTRODUCTION
PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION
VOLUME I. I. INTRODUCTORY II. WAVERLEY HONOUR--A
RETROSPECT III. EDUCATION IV. CASTLE-BUILDING V.
CHOICE OF A PROFESSION VI. THE ADIEUS OF WAVERLEY
VII. A HORSE-QUARTER IN SCOTLAND VIII. A SCOTTISH
MANOR-HOUSE SIXTY YEARS SINCE IX. MORE OF THE
MANOR-HOUSE AND ITS ENVIRONS X. ROSE BRADWARDINE
AND HER FATHER XI. THE BANQUET XII. REPENTANCE AND
A RECONCILIATION XIII. A MORE RATIONAL DAY THAN THE
LAST XIV. WAVERLEY BECOMES DOMESTICATED AT
TULLY-VEOLAN XV. A CREAGH, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
XVI. AN UNEXPECTED ALLY APPEARS XVII. THE HOLD OF A
HIGHLAND ROBBER XVIII. WAVERLEY PROCEEDS ON HIS
JOURNEY XIX. THE CHIEF AND HIS MANSION XX. A
HIGHLAND FEAST XXI. THE CHIEFTAIN'S SISTER XXII.
HIGHLAND MINSTRELSY XXIII. WAVERLEY CONTINUES AT
GLENNAQUOICH XXIV. STAG-HUNT AND ITS
CONSEQUENCES XXV. NEWS FROM ENGLAND XXVI. AN
ECLAIRCISSEMENT XXVII. UPON THE SAME SUBJECT XXVIII.
A LETTER FROM TULLY-VEOLAN XXIX. WAVERLEY'S
RECEPTION IN THE LOWLANDS AUTHOR'S NOTES--Volume I.
GLOSSARY--Volume I.
VOLUME II. I. LOSS OF A HORSE'S SHOE MAY BE A SERIOUS
INCONVENIENCE II. AN EXAMINATION III. A CONFERENCE,
AND THE CONSEQUENCE IV. A CONFIDANT V. THINGS
MEND A LITTLE VI. A VOLUNTEER SIXTY YEARS SINCE VII.
AN INCIDENT VIII. WAVERLEY IS STILL IN DISTRESS IX. A
NOCTURNAL ADVENTURE X. THE JOURNEY IS CONTINUED
XI. AN OLD AND A NEW ACQUAINTANCE XII. THE MYSTERY
BEGINS TO BE CLEARED XIII. A SOLDIER'S DINNER XIV. THE
BALL XV. THE MARCH XVI. AN INCIDENT GIVES RISE TO
UNAVAILING REFLECTIONS XVII. THE EVE OF BATTLE XVIII.
THE CONFLICT XIX. AN UNEXPECTED EMBARRASSMENT XX.
THE ENGLISH PRISONER XXI. RATHER UNIMPORTANT XXII.
INTRIGUES OF LOVE AND POLITICS XXIII. INTRIGUES OF
SOCIETY AND LOVE XXIV. FERGUS A SUITOR XXV. "TO ONE
THING CONSTANT NEVER" XXVI. A BRAVE MAN IN SORROW
XXVII. EXERTION XXVIII. THE MARCH XXIX. THE
CONFUSION OF KING AGRAMANT'S CAMP XXX. A SKIRMISH
XXXI. CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS XXXII. A JOURNEY TO
LONDON XXXIII. WHAT'S TO BE DONE NEXT? XXXIV.
DESOLATION XXXV. COMPARING OF NOTES XXXVI. MORE
EXPLANATION XXXVII. XXXVIII. XXXIX. XL. XLI. DULCE
DOMUM XLII. XLIII. A POSTSCRIPT WHICH SHOULD HAVE
BEEN A PREFACE AUTHOR'S NOTES--Volume II.
GLOSSARY--Volume II.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
VOLUME I. PORTRAIT OF SIR WALTER SCOTT----Painted by
Raeburn,Etched by Batley
ABBOTSFORD (FROM THE TWEED)----Etched by D. Y. Cameron
TULLY-VEOLAN----Painted by W. J. Leitch, Etched by H. W. Batley
"EH, SIRS!"----Original Etching by George Cruickshank
WAVERLEY AND ROSE BRADWARDINE----Etched by Ben.
Damman
THE HOLD OF A HIGHLAND ROBBER---Original Etching by R. W.
Macbeth
FLORA Mac-IVOR AT THE WATERFALL---Original Etching by R.
W. Macbeth
VOLUME II. PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD IN SHELTER----Etched
by H. M. Raeburn
STIRLING CASTLE----Etched by John Andrew and Son
BONNIE PRINCE CHARLIE---Painted by Pettie, Etched by Raeburn
COLONEL GARDINER---Original Etching by H. Macbeth Raeburn
DISBANDED----Painted by John Pettie, Etched by F. Huth
BAILIE MACWHEEBLE----Painted by J. Lauder, Etched by H. Lefort
"LADY WAUVERLEY! TEN THOUSAND A YEAR!"----Etching by
Cruickshank
WAVERLEY'S LAST VISIT TO FLORA MAC-IVOR----Painted by
Herdman
DOUNE CASTLE (FROM THE TEITH)----Etched by John Andrew
and Son
EDITOR'S NOTE.
The purpose of the added matter in this edition of the Waverley
Novels--a reprint of the magnum opus of 1829-1832--is to give to the
stories their historical setting, by stating the circumstances in which
they were composed and made their first appearance.
Sir Walter's own delightful Introductions, written hastily, as Lockhart
says, and with a failing memory, have occasionally been corrected by
Lockhart himself. His "Life of Scott" must always be our first and best
source, but fragments of information may be gleaned from Sir Walter's
unpublished correspondence.
The Editor owes to the kindness of Mrs. Maxwell Scott permission to
examine the twenty-four large volumes of letters to Sir Walter, and
some other manuscripts, which are preserved at Abbotsford. These
yield but little of contemporary criticism or remark, as is natural, for
Scott shared his secret with few, and most topics were more grateful to
him than his own writings. Lockhart left little for his successors to do,
and the more any one studies the Abbotsford manuscripts, the more
must he admire the industry and tact of Scott's biographer.
The Editor has also put together some examples of contemporary
published criticism which it is now not uninteresting to glance over. In
selecting these he has been aided by the kindness of Mrs. Ogilbie. From
the Abbotsford manuscripts and other sources he has added notes on
points which have become obscure by lapse of time. He has especially
to thank, for their courteous and ready assistance, Lady Napier and
Ettrick, who lent him Sir Walter's letters to her kinswoman, the
Marchioness of Abercorn; Mr. David Douglas, the editor and publisher
of Scott's "Journal," who has generously given the help of his
antiquarian knowledge; and Mr. David MacRitchie, who permitted him
to use the corrected proofs of "Redgauntlet."
ANDREW LANG
ADVERTISEMENT TO THE WAVERLEY NOVELS
It has been the occasional occupation of the Author of Waverley, for
several years past, to revise and correct the voluminous series of
Novels which pass under that name, in order that, if they should ever
appear as his avowed productions, he might render them in some
degree deserving of a continuance of the public favour with which they
have been honoured ever since their first appearance. For a long period,
however, it seemed likely that the improved and illustrated edition
which he meditated would be a posthumous publication. But the course
of the events which occasioned the disclosure of the Author's name
having, in a great measure, restored to him a sort of parental control
over these Works, he is naturally induced to give them to the press in a
corrected, and, he hopes, an improved form, while life and health
permit the task of revising and illustrating them. Such being his
purpose, it is necessary to say a few words on the plan of the proposed
Edition.
In stating it to be revised and corrected, it is not to be inferred that any
attempt is made to alter the tenor of the stories, the character of the
actors, or the spirit of the dialogue. There is no doubt ample room for
emendation in all these points,--but where the tree falls it must lie. Any
attempt to obviate criticism, however just, by altering a work already in
the hands of the public is generally unsuccessful. In the most
improbable fiction, the reader still desires some air of vraisemblance,
and does not relish that the incidents of a tale familiar to him should be
altered to suit the taste of critics, or the caprice of the Author himself.
This process of feeling is so natural, that it may be observed even in
children, who cannot endure that a nursery story should be repeated to
them differently from the manner in which it was first told.
But without altering, in the slightest degree, either the story or the
mode of telling it, the Author has taken this opportunity to correct
errors of the press and slips of the pen. That such should exist cannot
be wondered at, when it is considered that the Publishers found it their
interest to hurry through the press a succession of the early editions of
the various Novels, and that the Author had not the usual opportunity
of revision. It is hoped that the present edition will be found free from
errors of that accidental kind.
The Author has also ventured to make some emendations of a different
character, which, without being such apparent deviations from the
original stories as to disturb the reader's old associations, will, he thinks,
add something to the spirit of the dialogue, narrative, or description.
These consist in occasional pruning where the language is redundant,
compression where the style is loose, infusion of vigour where it is
languid, the exchange of less forcible for more appropriate
epithets--slight alterations in short, like the last touches of an artist,
which contribute to heighten and finish the picture, though an
inexperienced eye can hardly detect in what they consist.
The General Preface to the new Edition, and the Introductory Notices
to each separate work, will contain an account of such circumstances
attending the first publication of the Novels and Tales as may appear
interesting in themselves, or proper to be communicated to the public.
The Author also proposes to publish, on this occasion, the various
legends, family traditions, or obscure historical facts which have
formed the ground-work of these Novels, and to give some account of
the places where the scenes are laid, when these are altogether, or in
part, real; as well as a statement of particular incidents founded on fact;
together with a more copious Glossary, and Notes explanatory of the
ancient customs and popular superstitions referred to in the Romances.
Upon the whole, it is hoped that the Waverley Novels, in their new
dress, will not be found to have lost any part of their attractions in
consequence of receiving illustrations by the Author, and undergoing
his careful revision.
ABBOTSFORD, January, 1829.
GENERAL PREFACE TO THE WAVERLEY NOVELS
And must I ravel out My weaved-up follies? Richard II, Act IV.
Having undertaken to give an Introductory Account of the
compositions which are here offered to the public, with Notes and
Illustrations, the Author, under whose name they are now for the first
time collected, feels that he has the delicate task of speaking more of
himself and his personal concerns than may perhaps be either graceful
or prudent. In this particular he runs the risk of presenting himself to
the public in the relation that the dumb wife in the jest-book held to her
husband, when, having spent half of his fortune to obtain the cure of
her imperfection, he was willing to have bestowed the other half to
restore her to her former condition. But this is a risk inseparable from
the task which the Author has undertaken, and he can only promise to
be as little of an egotist as the situation will permit. It is perhaps an
indifferent sign of a disposition to keep his word, that, having
introduced himself in the third person singular, he proceeds in the
second paragraph to make use of the first. But it appears to him that the
seeming modesty connected with the former mode of writing is
overbalanced by the inconvenience of stiffness and affectation which
attends it during a narrative of some length, and which may be
observed less or more in every work in which the third person is used,
from the Commentaries of Caesar to the Autobiography of Alexander
the Corrector.
I must refer to a very early period of my life, were I to point out my
first achievements as a tale-teller; but I believe some of my old
schoolfellows can still bear witness that I had a distinguished character
for that talent, at a time when the applause of my companions was my
recompense for the disgraces and punishments which the future
romance-writer incurred for being idle himself, and keeping others idle,
during hours that should have been employed on our tasks. The chief
enjoyment of my holidays was to escape with a chosen friend, who had
the same taste with myself, and alternately to recite to each other such
wild adventures as we were able to devise. We told, each in turn,
interminable tales of knight-errantry and battles and enchantments,
which were continued from one day to another as opportunity offered,
without our ever thinking of bringing them to a conclusion. As we
observed a strict secrecy on the subject of this intercourse, it acquired
all the character of a concealed pleasure, and we used to select for the
scenes of our indulgence long walks through the solitary and romantic
environs of Arthur's Seat, Salisbury Crags, Braid Hills, and similar
places in the vicinity of Edinburgh; and the recollection of those
holidays still forms an oasis in the pilgrimage which I have to look
back upon. I have only to add, that my friend still lives, a prosperous
gentleman, but too much occupied with graver business to thank me for
indicating him more plainly as a confidant of my childish mystery.
When boyhood advancing into youth required more serious studies and
graver cares, a long illness threw me back on the kingdom of fiction, as
if it were by a species of fatality. My indisposition arose, in part at least,
from my having broken a blood-vessel; and motion and speech were for
a long time pronounced positively dangerous. For several weeks I was
confined strictly to my bed, during which time I was not allowed to
speak above a whisper, to eat more than a spoonful or two of boiled
rice, or to have more covering than one thin counterpane. When the
reader is informed that I was at this time a growing youth, with the
spirits, appetite, and impatience of fifteen, and suffered, of course,
greatly under this severe regimen, which the repeated return of my
disorder rendered indispensable, he will not be surprised that I was
abandoned to my own discretion, so far as reading (my almost sole
amusement) was concerned, and still less so, that I abused the
indulgence which left my time so much at my own disposal.
There was at this time a circulating library in Edinburgh, founded, I
believe, by the celebrated Allan Ramsay, which, besides containing a
most respectable collection of books of every description, was, as
might have been expected, peculiarly rich in works of fiction. It
exhibited specimens of every kind, from the romances of chivalry and
the ponderous folios of Cyrus and Cassandra, down to the most
approved works of later times. I was plunged into this great ocean of
reading without compass or pilot; and, unless when some one had the
charity to play at chess with me, I was allowed to do nothing save read
from morning to night. I was, in kindness and pity, which was perhaps
erroneous, however natural, permitted to select my subjects of study at
my own pleasure, upon the same principle that the humours of children
are indulged to keep them out of mischief. As my taste and appetite
were gratified in nothing else, I indemnified myself by becoming a
glutton of books. Accordingly, I believe I read almost all the romances,
old plays, and epic poetry in that formidable collection, and no doubt
was unconsciously amassing materials for the task in which it has been
my lot to be so much employed.
At the same time I did not in all respects abuse the license permitted me.
Familiar acquaintance with the specious miracles of fiction brought
with it some degree of satiety, and I began by degrees to seek in
histories, memoirs, voyages and travels, and the like, events nearly as
wonderful as those which were the work of imagination, with the
additional advantage that they were at least in a great measure true. The
lapse of nearly two years, during which I was left to the exercise of my
own free will, was followed by a temporary residence in the country,
where I was again very lonely but for the amusement which I derived
from a good though old-fashioned library. The vague and wild use
which I made of this advantage I cannot describe better than by
referring my reader to the desultory studies of Waverley in a similar
situation, the passages concerning whose course of reading were
imitated from recollections of my own. It must be understood that the
resemblance extends no farther.
Time, as it glided on, brought the blessings of confirmed health and
personal strength, to a degree which had never been expected or hoped
for. The severe studies necessary to render me fit for my profession
occupied the greater part of my time; and the society of my friends and
companions, who were about to enter life along with, me, filled up the
interval with the usual amusements of young men. I was in a situation
which rendered serious labour indispensable; for, neither possessing, on
the one hand, any of those peculiar advantages which are supposed to
favour a hasty advance in the profession of the law, nor being, on the
other hand, exposed to unusual obstacles to interrupt my progress, I
might reasonably expect to succeed according to the greater or less
degree of trouble which I should take to qualify myself as a pleader.
It makes no part of the present story to detail how the success of a few
ballads had the effect of changing all the purpose and tenor of my life,
and of converting a painstaking lawyer of some years' standing into a
follower of literature. It is enough to say, that I had assumed the latter
character for several years before I seriously thought of attempting a
work of imagination in prose, although one or two of my poetical
attempts did not differ from romances otherwise than by being written
in verse. But yet I may observe, that about this time (now, alas! thirty
years since) I had nourished the ambitious desire of composing a tale of
chivalry, which was to be in the style of the Castle of Otranto, with
plenty of Border characters and supernatural incident. Having found
unexpectedly a chapter of this intended work among some old papers, I
have subjoined it to this introductory essay, thinking some readers may
account as curious the first attempts at romantic composition by an
author who has since written so much in that department. [Footnote:
See Appendix No I.] And those who complain, not unreasonably, of the
profusion of the Tales which have followed Waverley, may bless their
stars at the narrow escape they have made, by the commencement of
the inundation, which had so nearly taken place in the first year of the
century, being postponed for fifteen years later.
This particular subject was never resumed, but I did not abandon the
idea of fictitious composition in prose, though I determined to give
another turn to the style of the work.
My early recollections of the Highland scenery and customs made so
favourable an impression in the poem called the Lady of the Lake, that
I was induced to think of attempting something of the same kind in
prose. I had been a good deal in the Highlands at a time when they
were much less accessible and much less visited than they have been of
late years, and was acquainted with many of the old warriors of 1745,
who were, like most veterans, easily induced to fight their battles over
again for the benefit of a willing listener like myself. It naturally
occurred to me that the ancient traditions and high spirit of a people
who, living in a civilised age and country, retained so strong a tincture
of manners belonging to an early period of society, must afford a
subject favourable for romance, if it should not prove a curious tale
marred in the telling.
It was with some idea of this kind that, about the year 1805, I threw
together about one-third part of the first volume of Waverley. It was
advertised to be published by the late Mr. John Ballantyne, bookseller
in Edinburgh, under the name of Waverley; or, 'Tis Fifty Years
Since--a title afterwards altered to 'Tis Sixty Years Since, that the
actual date of publication might be made to correspond with the period
in which the scene was laid. Having proceeded as far, I think, as the
seventh chapter, I showed my work to a critical friend, whose opinion
was unfavourable; and having then some poetical reputation, I was
unwilling to risk the loss of it by attempting a new style of composition.
I therefore threw aside the work I had commenced, without either
reluctance or remonstrance. I ought to add that, though my ingenious
friend's sentence was afterwards reversed on an appeal to the public, it
cannot be considered as any imputation on his good taste; for the
specimen subjected to his criticism did not extend beyond the departure
of the hero for Scotland, and consequently had not entered upon the
part of the story which was finally found most interesting.
Be that as it may, this portion of the manuscript was laid aside in the
drawers of an old writing-desk, which, on my first coming to reside at
Abbotsford in 1811, was placed in a lumber garret and entirely
forgotten. Thus, though I sometimes, among other literary avocations,
turned my thoughts to the continuation of the romance which I had
commenced, yet, as I could not find what I had already written, after
searching such repositories as were within my reach, and was too
indolent to attempt to write it anew from memory, I as often laid aside
all thoughts of that nature.
Two circumstances in particular recalled my recollection of the mislaid
manuscript. The first was the extended and well-merited fame of Miss
Edgeworth, whose Irish characters have gone so far to make the
English familiar with the character of their gay and kind-hearted
neighbours of Ireland, that she may be truly said to have done more
towards completing the Union than perhaps all the legislative
enactments by which it has been followed up.
Without being so presumptuous as to hope to emulate the rich humour,
pathetic tenderness, and admirable tact which pervade the works of my
accomplished friend, I felt that something might be attempted for my
own country, of the same kind with that which Miss Edgeworth so
fortunately achieved for Ireland--something which might introduce her
natives to those of the sister kingdom in a more favourable light than
they had been placed hitherto, and tend to procure sympathy for their
virtues and indulgence for their foibles. I thought also, that much of
what I wanted in talent might be made up by the intimate acquaintance
with the subject which I could lay claim to possess, as having travelled
through most parts of Scotland, both Highland and Lowland, having
been familiar with the elder as well as more modern race, and having
had from my infancy free and unrestrained communication with all
ranks of my countrymen, from the Scottish peer to the Scottish
plough-man. Such ideas often occurred to me, and constituted an
ambitious branch of my theory, however far short I may have fallen of
it in practice.
But it was not only the triumphs of Miss Edgeworth which worked in
me emulation, and disturbed my indolence. I chanced actually to
engage in a work which formed a sort of essay piece, and gave me hope
that I might in time become free of the craft of romance-writing, and be
esteemed a tolerable workman.
In the year 1807-08 I undertook, at the request of John Murray, Esq., of
Albemarle Street, to arrange for publication some posthumous
productions of the late Mr. Joseph Strutt, distinguished as an artist and
an antiquary, amongst which was an unfinished romance, entitled
Queenhoo Hall. The scene of the tale was laid in the reign of Henry VI,
and the work was written to illustrate the manners, customs, and
language of the people of England during that period. The extensive
acquaintance which Mr. Strutt had acquired with such subjects in
compiling his laborious Horda Angel-Cynnan, his Regal and
Ecclesiastical Antiquities, and his Essay on the Sports and Pastimes of
the People of England had rendered him familiar with all the
antiquarian lore necessary for the purpose of composing the projected
romance; and although the manuscript bore the marks of hurry and
incoherence natural to the first rough draught of the author, it evinced
(in my opinion) considerable powers of imagination.
As the work was unfinished, I deemed it my duty, as editor, to supply
such a hasty and inartificial conclusion as could be shaped out from the
story, of which Mr. Strutt had laid the foundation. This concluding
chapter [Footnote: See Appendix No. II.] is also added to the present
Introduction, for the reason already mentioned regarding the preceding
fragment. It was a step in my advance towards romantic composition;
and to preserve the traces of these is in a great measure the object of
this Essay.
Queenhoo Hall was not, however, very successful. I thought I was
aware of the reason, and supposed that, by rendering his language too
ancient, and displaying his antiquarian knowledge too liberally, the
ingenious author had raised up an obstacle to his own success. Every
work designed for mere amusement must be expressed in language
easily comprehended; and when, as is sometimes the case in
QUEENHOO HALL, the author addresses himself exclusively to the
antiquary, he must be content to be dismissed by the general reader
with the criticism of Mungo, in the PADLOCK, on the Mauritanian
music, 'What signifies me hear, if me no understand?'
I conceived it possible to avoid this error; and, by rendering a similar
work more light and obvious to general comprehension, to escape the
rock on which my predecessor was shipwrecked.
But I was, on the other hand, so far discouraged by the indifferent
reception of Mr. Strutt's romance as to become satisfied that the
manners of the middle ages did not possess the interest which I had
conceived; and was led to form the opinion that a romance founded on
a Highland story and more modern events would have a better chance
of popularity than a tale of chivalry.
My thoughts, therefore, returned more than once to the tale which I had
actually commenced, and accident at length threw the lost sheets in my
way.
I happened to want some fishing-tackle for the use of a guest, when it
occurred to me to search the old writing-desk already mentioned, in
which I used to keep articles of that nature.
I got access to it with some difficulty; and, in looking for lines and flies,
the long-lost manuscript presented itself.
I immediately set to work to complete it according to my original
purpose.
And here I must frankly confess that the mode in which I conducted the
story scarcely deserved the success which the romance afterwards
attained.
The tale of WAVERLEY was put together with so little care that I
cannot boast of having sketched any distinct plan of the work. The
whole adventures of Waverley, in his movements up and down the
country with the Highland cateran Bean Lean, are managed without
much skill. It suited best, however, the road I wanted to travel, and
permitted me to introduce some descriptions of scenery and manners,
to which the reality gave an interest which the powers of the Author
might have otherwise failed to attain for them. And though I have been
in other instances a sinner in this sort, I do not recollect any of these
novels in which I have transgressed so widely as in the first of the
series.
Among other unfounded reports, it has been said that the copyright of
Waverley was, during the book's progress through the press, offered for
sale to various book-sellers in London at a very inconsiderable price.
This was not the case. Messrs. Constable and Cadell, who published the
work, were the only persons acquainted with the contents of the
publication, and they offered a large sum for it while in the course of
printing, which, however, was declined, the Author not choosing to part
with the copyright.
The origin of the story of Waverley, and the particular facts on which it
is founded, are given in the separate introduction prefixed to that
romance in this edition, and require no notice in this place.
Waverley was published in 1814, and, as the title-page was without the
name of the Author, the work was left to win its way in the world
without any of the usual recommendations. Its progress was for some
time slow; but after the first two or three months its popularity had
increased in a degree which must have satisfied the expectations of the
Author, had these been far more sanguine than he ever entertained.
Great anxiety was expressed to learn the name of the Author, but on
this no authentic information could be attained. My original motive for
publishing the work anonymously was the consciousness that it was an
experiment on the public taste which might very probably fail, and
therefore there was no occasion to take on myself the personal risk of
discomfiture. For this purpose considerable precautions were used to
preserve secrecy. My old friend and schoolfellow, Mr. James
Ballantyne, who printed these Novels, had the exclusive task of
corresponding with the Author, who thus had not only the advantage of
his professional talents, but also of his critical abilities. The original
manuscript, or, as it is technically called, copy, was transcribed under
Mr. Ballantyne's eye by confidential persons; nor was there an instance
of treachery during the many years in which these precautions were
resorted to, although various individuals were employed at different
times. Double proof-sheets were regularly printed off. One was
forwarded to the Author by Mr. Ballantyne, and the alterations which it
received were, by his own hand, copied upon the other proof-sheet for
the use of the printers, so that even the corrected proofs of the Author
were never seen in the printing office; and thus the curiosity of such
eager inquirers as made the most minute investigation was entirely at
fault.
But although the cause of concealing the Author's name in the first
instance, when the reception of Waverley was doubtful, was natural
enough, it is more difficult, it may be thought, to account for the same
desire for secrecy during the subsequent editions, to the amount of
betwixt eleven and twelve thousand copies, which followed each other
close, and proved the success of the work. I am sorry I can give little
satisfaction to queries on this subject. I have already stated elsewhere
that I can render little better reason for choosing to remain anonymous
than by saying with Shylock, that such was my humour. It will be
observed that I had not the usual stimulus for desiring personal
reputation, the desire, namely, to float amidst the conversation of men.
Of literary fame, whether merited or undeserved, I had already as much
as might have contented a mind more ambitious than mine; and in
entering into this new contest for reputation I might be said rather to
endanger what I had than to have any considerable chance of acquiring
more. I was affected, too, by none of those motives which, at an earlier
period of life, would doubtless have operated upon me. My friendships
were formed, my place in society fixed, my life had attained its middle
course. My condition in society was higher perhaps than I deserved,
certainly as high as I wished, and there was scarce any degree of
literary success which could have greatly altered or improved my
personal condition.
I was not, therefore, touched by the spur of ambition, usually
stimulating on such occasions; and yet I ought to stand exculpated from
the charge of ungracious or unbecoming indifference to public applause.
I did not the less feel gratitude for the public favour, although I did not
proclaim it; as the lover who wears his mistress's favour in his bosom is
as proud, though not so vain, of possessing it as another who displays
the token of her grace upon his bonnet. Far from such an ungracious
state of mind, I have seldom felt more satisfaction than when, returning
from a pleasure voyage, I found Waverley in the zenith of popularity,
and public curiosity in full cry after the name of the Author. The
knowledge that I had the public approbation was like having the
property of a hidden treasure, not less gratifying to the owner than if all
the world knew that it was his own. Another advantage was connected
with the secrecy which I observed. I could appear or retreat from the
stage at pleasure, without attracting any personal notice or attention,
other than what might be founded on suspicion only. In my own person
also, as a successful author in another department of literature, I might
have been charged with too frequent intrusions on the public patience;
but the Author of Waverley was in this respect as impassible to the
critic as the Ghost of Hamlet to the partisan of Marcellus. Perhaps the
curiosity of the public, irritated by the existence of a secret, and kept
afloat by the discussions which took place on the subject from time to
time, went a good way to maintain an unabated interest in these
frequent publications. There was a mystery concerning the Author
which each new novel was expected to assist in unravelling, although it
might in other respects rank lower than its predecessors.
I may perhaps be thought guilty of affectation, should I allege as one
reason of my silence a secret dislike to enter on personal discussions
concerning my own literary labours. It is in every case a dangerous
intercourse for an author to be dwelling continually among those who
make his writings a frequent and familiar subject of conversation, but
who must necessarily be partial judges of works composed in their own
society. The habits of self-importance which are thus acquired by
authors are highly injurious to a well-regulated mind; for the cup of
flattery, if it does not, like that of Circe, reduce men to the level of
beasts, is sure, if eagerly drained, to bring the best and the ablest down
to that of fools. This risk was in some degree prevented by the mask
which I wore; and my own stores of self-conceit were left to their
natural course, without being enhanced by the partiality of friends or
adulation of flatterers.
If I am asked further reasons for the conduct I have long observed, I
can only resort to the explanation supplied by a critic as friendly as he
is intelligent; namely, that the mental organisation of the novelist must
be characterised, to speak craniologically, by an extraordinary
development of the passion for delitescency! I the rather suspect some
natural disposition of this kind; for, from the instant I perceived the
extreme curiosity manifested on the subject, I felt a secret satisfaction
in baffling it, for which, when its unimportance is considered, I do not
well know how to account.
My desire to remain concealed, in the character of the Author of these
Novels, subjected me occasionally to awkward embarrassments, as it
sometimes happened that those who were sufficiently intimate with me
would put the question in direct terms. In this case, only one of three
courses could be followed. Either I must have surrendered my secret, or
have returned an equivocating answer, or, finally, must have stoutly
and boldly denied the fact. The first was a sacrifice which I conceive no
one had a right to force from me, since I alone was concerned in the
matter. The alternative of rendering a doubtful answer must have left
me open to the degrading suspicion that I was not unwilling to assume
the merit (if there was any) which I dared not absolutely lay claim to;
or those who might think more justly of me must have received such an
equivocal answer as an indirect avowal. I therefore considered myself
entitled, like an accused person put upon trial, to refuse giving my own
evidence to my own conviction, and flatly to deny all that could not be
proved against me. At the same time I usually qualified my denial by
stating that, had I been the Author of these works, I would have felt
myself quite entitled to protect my secret by refusing my own evidence,
when it was asked for to accomplish a discovery of what I desired to
conceal.
The real truth is, that I never expected or hoped to disguise my
connection with these Novels from any one who lived on terms of
intimacy with me. The number of coincidences which necessarily
existed between narratives recounted, modes of expression, and
opinions broached in these Tales and such as were used by their Author
in the intercourse of private life must have been far too great to permit
any of my familiar acquaintances to doubt the identity betwixt their
friend and the Author of Waverley; and I believe they were all morally
convinced of it. But while I was myself silent, their belief could not
weigh much more with the world than that of others; their opinions and
reasoning were liable to be taxed with partiality, or confronted with
opposing arguments and opinions; and the question was not so much
whether I should be generally acknowledged to be the Author, in spite
of my own denial, as whether even my own avowal of the works, if
such should be made, would be sufficient to put me in undisputed
possession of that character.
I have been often asked concerning supposed cases, in which I was said
to have been placed on the verge of discovery; but, as I maintained my
point with the composure of a lawyer of thirty years' standing, I never
recollect being in pain or confusion on the subject. In Captain
Medwyn's Conversations of Lord Byron the reporter states himself to
have asked my noble and highly gifted friend,' If he was certain about
these Novels being Sir Walter Scott's?' To which Lord Byron replied,
'Scott as much as owned himself the Author of Waverley to me in
Murray's shop. I was talking to him about that Novel, and lamented that
its Author had not carried back the story nearer to the time of the
Revolution. Scott, entirely off his guard, replied, "Ay, I might have
done so; but--" there he stopped. It was in vain to attempt to correct
himself; he looked confused, and relieved his embarrassment by a
precipitate retreat.' I have no recollection whatever of this scene taking
place, and I should have thought that I was more likely to have laughed
than to appear confused, for I certainly never hoped to impose upon
Lord Byron in a case of the kind; and from the manner in which he
uniformly expressed himself, I knew his opinion was entirely formed,
and that any disclamations of mine would only have savoured of
affectation. I do not mean to insinuate that the incident did not happen,
but only that it could hardly have occurred exactly under the
circumstances narrated, without my recollecting something positive on
the subject. In another part of the same volume Lord Byron is reported
to have expressed a supposition that the cause of my not avowing
myself the Author of Waverley may have been some surmise that the
reigning family would have been displeased with the work. I can only
say, it is the last apprehension I should have entertained, as indeed the
inscription to these volumes sufficiently proves. The sufferers of that
melancholy period have, during the last and present reign, been
honoured both with the sympathy and protection of the reigning family,
whose magnanimity can well pardon a sigh from others, and bestow
one themselves, to the memory of brave opponents, who did nothing in
hate, but all in honour.
While those who were in habitual intercourse with the real author had
little hesitation in assigning the literary property to him, others, and
those critics of no mean rank, employed themselves in investigating
with persevering patience any characteristic features which might seem
to betray the origin of these Novels. Amongst these, one gentleman,
equally remarkable for the kind and liberal tone of his criticism, the
acuteness of his reasoning, and the very gentlemanlike manner in which
he conducted his inquiries, displayed not only powers of accurate
investigation, but a temper of mind deserving to be employed on a
subject of much greater importance; and I have no doubt made converts
to his opinion of almost all who thought the point worthy of
consideration. [Footnote: Letters on the Author of Waverly; Rodwell
and Martin, London, 1822.] Of those letters, and other attempts of the
same kind, the Author could not complain, though his incognito was
endangered. He had challenged the public to a game at bo-peep, and if
he was discovered in his 'hiding-hole,' he must submit to the shame of
detection.
Various reports were of course circulated in various ways; some
founded on an inaccurate rehearsal of what may have been partly real,
some on circumstances having no concern whatever with the subject,
and others on the invention of some importunate persons, who might
perhaps imagine that the readiest mode of forcing the Author to
disclose himself was to assign some dishonourable and discreditable
cause for his silence.
It may be easily supposed that this sort of inquisition was treated with
contempt by the person whom it principally regarded; as, among all the
rumours that were current, there was only one, and that as unfounded as
the others, which had nevertheless some alliance to probability, and
indeed might have proved in some degree true.
I allude to a report which ascribed a great part, or the whole, of these
Novels to the late Thomas Scott, Esq., of the 70th Regiment, then
stationed in Canada. Those who remember that gentleman will readily
grant that, with general talents at least equal to those of his elder
brother, he added a power of social humour and a deep insight into
human character which rendered him an universally delightful member
of society, and that the habit of composition alone was wanting to
render him equally successful as a writer. The Author of Waverley was
so persuaded of the truth of this, that he warmly pressed his brother to
make such an experiment, and willingly undertook all the trouble of
correcting and superintending the press. Mr. Thomas Scott seemed at
first very well disposed to embrace the proposal, and had even fixed on
a subject and a hero. The latter was a person well known to both of us
in our boyish years, from having displayed some strong traits of
character. Mr. T. Scott had determined to represent his youthful
acquaintance as emigrating to America, and encountering the dangers
and hardships of the New World, with the same dauntless spirit which
he had displayed when a boy in his native country. Mr. Scott would
probably have been highly successful, being familiarly acquainted with
the manners of the native Indians, of the old French settlers in Canada,
and of the Brules or Woodsmen, and having the power of observing
with accuracy what I have no doubt he could have sketched with force
and expression. In short, the Author believes his brother would have
made himself distinguished in that striking field in which, since that
period, Mr. Cooper has achieved so many triumphs. But Mr. T. Scott
was already affected by bad health, which wholly unfitted him for
literary labour, even if he could have reconciled his patience to the task.
He never, I believe, wrote a single line of the projected work; and I
only have the melancholy pleasure of preserving in the Appendix
[Footnote: See Appendix No. III.] the simple anecdote on which he
proposed to found it.
To this I may add, I can easily conceive that there may have been
circumstances which gave a colour to the general report of my brother
being interested in these works; and in particular that it might derive
strength from my having occasion to remit to him, in consequence of
certain family transactions, some considerable sums of money about
that period. To which it is to be added that if any person chanced to
evince particular curiosity on such a subject, my brother was likely
enough to divert himself with practising on their credulity.
It may be mentioned that, while the paternity of these Novels was from
time to time warmly disputed in Britain, the foreign booksellers
expressed no hesitation on the matter, but affixed my name to the
whole of the Novels, and to some besides to which I had no claim.
The volumes, therefore, to which the present pages form a Preface are
entirely the composition of the Author by whom they are now
acknowledged, with the exception, always, of avowed quotations, and
such unpremeditated and involuntary plagiarisms as can scarce be
guarded against by any one who has read and written a great deal. The
original manuscripts are all in existence, and entirely written (horresco
referens) in the Author's own hand, excepting during the years 1818
and 1819, when, being affected with severe illness, he was obliged to
employ the assistance of a friendly amanuensis.
The number of persons to whom the secret was necessarily entrusted,
or communicated by chance, amounted, I should think, to twenty at
least, to whom I am greatly obliged for the fidelity with which they
observed their trust, until the derangement of the affairs of my
publishers, Messrs. Constable and Co., and the exposure of their
account books, which was the necessary consequence, rendered secrecy
no longer possible. The particulars attending the avowal have been laid
before the public in the Introduction to the Chronicles of the
Canongate.
The preliminary advertisement has given a sketch of the purpose of this
edition. I have some reason to fear that the notes which accompany the
tales, as now published, may be thought too miscellaneous and too
egotistical. It maybe some apology for this, that the publication was
intended to be posthumous, and still more, that old men may be
permitted to speak long, because they cannot in the course of nature
have long time to speak. In preparing the present edition, I have done
all that I can do to explain the nature of my materials, and the use I
have made of them; nor is it probable that I shall again revise or even
read these tales. I was therefore desirous rather to exceed in the portion
of new and explanatory matter which is added to this edition than that
the reader should have reason to complain that the information
communicated was of a general and merely nominal character. It
remains to be tried whether the public (like a child to whom a watch is
shown) will, after having been satiated with looking at the outside,
acquire some new interest in the object when it is opened and the
internal machinery displayed to them.
That Waverly and its successors have had their day of favour and
popularity must be admitted with sincere gratitude; and the Author has
studied (with the prudence of a beauty whose reign has been rather long)
to supply, by the assistance of art, the charms which novelty no longer
affords. The publishers have endeavoured to gratify the honourable
partiality of the public for the encouragement of British art, by
illustrating this edition with designs by the most eminent living artists.
[Footnote: The illustrations here referred to were made for the edition
of 1829]
To my distinguished countryman, David Wilkie, to Edwin Landseer,
who has exercised his talents so much on Scottish subjects and scenery,
to Messrs. Leslie and Newton, my thanks are due, from a friend as well
as an author. Nor am I less obliged to Messrs. Cooper, Kidd, and other
artists of distinction to whom I am less personally known, for the ready
zeal with which they have devoted their talents to the same purpose.
Farther explanation respecting the Edition is the business of the
publishers, not of the Author; and here, therefore, the latter has
accomplished his task of introduction and explanation. If, like a spoiled
child, he has sometimes abused or trifled with the indulgence of the
public, he feels himself entitled to full belief when he exculpates
himself from the charge of having been at any time insensible of their
kindness.
ABBOTSFORD, 1st January, 1829.
APPENDIX No. I.,
FRAGMENT OF A ROMANCE WHICH WAS TO HAVE BEEN
ENTITLED
THOMAS THE RHYMER.
[It is not to be supposed that these fragments are given as possessing
any intrinsic value of themselves; but there may be some curiosity
attached to them, as to the first etchings of a plate, which are accounted
interesting by those who have, in any degree, been interested in the
more finished works of the artist.]
CHAPTER I.
The sun was nearly set behind the distant mountains of Liddesdale,
when a few of the scattered and terrified inhabitants of the village of
Hersildoun, which had four days before been burned by a predatory
band of English Borderers, were now busied in repairing their ruined
dwellings. One high tower in the centre of the village alone exhibited
no appearance of devastation. It was surrounded with court walls, and
the outer gate was barred and bolted. The bushes and brambles which
grew around, and had even insinuated their branches beneath the gate,
plainly showed that it must have been many years since it had been
opened. While the cottages around lay in smoking ruins, this pile,
deserted and desolate as it seemed to be, had suffered nothing from the
violence of the invaders; and the wretched beings who were
endeavouring to repair their miserable huts against nightfall, seemed to
neglect the preferable shelter which it might have afforded them,
without the necessity of labour.
Before the day had quite gone down, a knight, richly armed, and
mounted upon an ambling hackney, rode slowly into the village. His
attendants were a lady, apparently young and beautiful, who rode by his
side upon a dappled palfrey; his squire, who carried his helmet and
lance, and led his battle-horse, a noble steed, richly caparisoned. A
page and four yeomen, bearing bows and quivers, short swords, and
targets of a span breadth, completed his equipage, which, though small,
denoted him to be a man of high rank.
He stopped and addressed several of the inhabitants whom curiosity
had withdrawn from their labour to gaze at him; but at the sound of his
voice, and still more on perceiving the St. George's Cross in the caps of
his followers, they fled, with a loud cry that the Southrons were
returned. The knight endeavoured to expostulate with the fugitives,
who were chiefly aged men, women, and children; but their dread of
the English name accelerated their flight, and in a few minutes,
excepting the knight and his attendants, the place was deserted by all.
He paced through the village to seek a shelter for the night, and
despairing to find one either in the inaccessible tower or the plundered
huts of the peasantry, he directed his course to the left hand, where he
spied a small, decent habitation, apparently the abode of a man
considerably above the common rank. After much knocking, the
proprietor at length showed himself at the window, and speaking in the
English dialect, with great signs of apprehension, demanded their
business. The warrior replied that his quality was an English knight and
baron, and that he was travelling to the court of the king of Scotland on
affairs of consequence to both kingdoms.
"Pardon my hesitation, noble Sir Knight," said the old man, as he
unbolted and unbarred his doors,-"Pardon my hesitation, but we are here exposed to too many intrusions
to admit of our exercising unlimited and unsuspicious hospitality. What
I have is yours; and God send your mission may bring back peace and
the good days of our old Queen Margaret!"
"Amen, worthy franklin," quoth the knight,--"Did you know her?"
"I came to this country in her train," said the franklin; "and the care of
some of her jointure lands, which she devolved on me, occasioned my
settling here."
"And how do you, being an Englishman," said the knight, "protect your
life and property here, when one of your nation cannot obtain a single
night's lodging, or a draught of water, were he thirsty?"
"Marry, noble sir," answered the franklin, "use, as they say, will make a
man live in a lion's den; and as I settled here in a quiet time, and have
never given cause of offence, I am respected by my neighbours, and
even, as you see, by our forayers from England."
"I rejoice to hear it, and accept your hospitality. Isabella, my love, our
worthy host will provide you a bed. My daughter, good franklin, is ill at
ease. We will occupy your house till the Scottish king shall return from
his Northern expedition. Meanwhile call me Lord Lacy of Chester."
The attendants of the baron, assisted by the franklin, were now busied
in disposing of the horses and arranging the table for some refreshment
for Lord Lacy and his fair companion. While they sat down to it, they
were attended by their host and his daughter, whom custom did not
permit to eat in their presence, and who afterwards withdrew to an
outer chamber, where the squire and page (both young men of noble
birth) partook of supper, and were accommodated with beds. The
yeomen, after doing honour to the rustic cheer of Queen Margaret's
bailiff, withdrew to the stable, and each, beside his favourite horse,
snored away the fatigues of their journey. Early on the following
morning the travellers were roused by a thundering knocking at the
door of the house, accompanied with many demands for instant
admission, in the roughest tone. The squire and page, of Lord Lacy,
after buckling on their arms, were about to sally out to chastise these
intruders, when the old host, after looking out at a private casement,
contrived for reconnoitring his visitors, entreated them, with great signs
of terror, to be quiet, if they did not mean that all in the house should be
murdered. He then hastened to the apartment of Lord Lacy, whom he
met dressed in a long furred gown and the knightly cap called a mortier,
irritated at the noise, and demanding to know the cause which had
disturbed the repose of the household.
"Noble sir," said the franklin, "one of the most formidable and bloody
of the Scottish Border riders is at hand. He is never seen," added he,
faltering with terror, "so far from the hills, but with some bad purpose,
and the power of accomplishing it; so hold yourself to your guard,
for--"
A loud crash here announced that the door was broken down, and the
knight just descended the stair in time to prevent bloodshed betwixt his
attendants and the intruders. They were three in number. Their chief
was tall, bony, and athletic, his spare and muscular frame, as well as the
hardness of his features, marked the course of his life to have been
fatiguing and perilous. The effect of his appearance was aggravated by
his dress, which consisted of a jack, or jacket, composed of thick buff
leather, on which small plates of iron of a lozenge form were stitched,
in such a manner as to overlap each other and form a coat of mail,
which swayed with every motion of the wearer's body. This defensive
armour covered a doublet of coarse gray cloth, and the Borderer had a
few half-rusted plates of steel on his shoulders, a two-edged sword,
with a dagger hanging beside it, in a buff belt; a helmet, with a few iron
bars, to cover the face instead of a visor, and a lance of tremendous and
uncommon length, completed his appointments. The looks of the man
were as wild and rude as his attire; his keen black eyes never rested one
moment fixed upon a single object, but constantly traversed all around,
as if they ever sought some danger to oppose, some plunder to seize, or
some insult to revenge. The latter seemed to be his present object, for,
regardless of the dignified presence of Lord Lacy, he uttered the most
incoherent threats against the owner of the house and his guests.
"We shall see--ay, marry shall we--if an English hound is to harbour
and reset the Southrons here. Thank the Abbot of Melrose and the good
Knight of Coldingnow that have so long kept me from your skirts. But
those days are gone, by St. Mary, and you shall find it!"
It is probable the enraged Borderer would not have long continued to
vent his rage in empty menaces, had not the entrance of the four
yeomen, with their bows bent, convinced him that the force was not at
this moment on his own side.
Lord Lacy now advanced towards him. "You intrude upon my privacy,
soldier; withdraw yourself and Your followers. There is peace betwixt
our nations, or my servants should chastise thy presumption."
"Such peace as ye give such shall you have," answered the
moss-trooper, first pointing with his lance towards the burned village,
and then almost instantly levelling it against Lord Lacy. The squire
drew his sword, and severed at one blow the steel head from the
truncheon of the spear.
"Arthur Fitzherbert," said the baron, "that stroke has deferred thy
knighthood for one year; never must that squire wear the spurs whose
unbridled impetuosity can draw unbidden his sword in the presence of
his master. Go hence, and think on what I have said."
The squire left the chamber abashed.
"It were vain," continued Lord Lacy, "to expect that courtesy from a
mountain churl which even my own followers can forget. Yet before
thou drawest thy brand," for the intruder laid his hand upon the hilt of
his sword, "thou wilt do well to reflect that I came with a safe-conduct
from thy king, and have no time to waste in brawls with such as thou."
"From my king,--from my king!" re-echoed the mountaineer. "I care
not that rotten truncheon," striking the shattered spear furiously on the
ground, "for the king of Fife and Lothian. But Habby of Cessford will
be here belive; and we shall soon know if he will permit an English
churl to occupy his hostelry."
Having uttered these words, accompanied with a lowering glance from
under his shaggy black eyebrows, he turned on his heel and left the
house with his two followers; they mounted their horses, which they
had tied to an outer fence, and vanished in an instant.
"Who is this discourteous ruffian?" said Lord Lacy to the franklin, who
had stood in the most violent agitation during this whole scene.
"His name, noble lord, is Adam Kerr of the Moat, but he is commonly
called by his companions the Black Rider of Cheviot. I fear, I fear, he
comes hither for no good; but if the Lord of Cessford be near, he will
not dare offer any unprovoked outrage."
"I have heard of that chief," said the baron; "let me know when he
approaches. And do thou, Rodulph," to the eldest yeoman, "keep a
strict watch. Adelbert," to the page, "attend to arm me." The page
bowed, and the baron withdrew to the chamber of the lady Isabella, to
explain the cause of the disturbance.
No more of the proposed tale was ever written; but the Author's
purpose was that it should turn upon a fine legend of superstition which
is current in the part of the Borders where he had his residence, where,
in the reign of Alexander III. of Scotland, that renowned person,
Thomas of Hersildoune, called the Rhymer, actually flourished. This
personage, the Merlin of Scotland, and to whom some of the
adventures which the British bards assigned to Merlin Caledonius, or
the Wild, have been transferred by tradition, was, as is well known, a
magician, as well as a poet and prophet. He is alleged still to live in the
land of Faery, and is expected to return at some great convulsion of
society, in which he is to act a distinguished part,--a tradition common
to all nations, as the belief of the Mahomedans respecting their twelfth
Imaum demonstrates.
Now, it chanced many years since that there lived on the Borders a
jolly, rattling horse-cowper, who was remarkable for a reckless and
fearless temper, which made him much admired, and a little dreaded,
amongst his neighbours. One moonlight night, as he rode over Bowden
Moor, on the west side of the Eildon Hills, the scene of Thomas the
Rhymer's prophecies, and often mentioned in his story, having a brace
of horses along with him which he had not been able to dispose of, he
met a man of venerable appearance and singularly antique dress, who,
to his great surprise, asked the price of his horses, and began to chaffer
with him on the subject. To Canobie Dick--(for so shall we call our
Border dealer)--a chap was a chap, and he would have sold a liaise to
the devil himself, without minding his cloven hoof, and would have
probably cheated Old Nick into the bargain. The stranger paid the price
they agreed on; and all that puzzled Dick in the transaction was that the
gild which he received was in unicorns, bonnet-pieces, and other
ancient coins, which would have been invaluable to collectors, but were
rather troublesome, in modern currency.
It was gold, however, and therefore Dick contrived to get better value
for the coin than he perhaps gave to his customer. By the command of
so good a merchant, he brought horses to the same slot more than once;
the purchaser only stipulating that he should always come by night, and
alone. I do not know whether it was from mere curiosity, or whether
some hope of gain mixed with it, but after Dick had sold several horses
in this way, he began to complain that dry-bargains were unlucky, and
to hint that since his chap must live in the neighbourhood, he ought, in
the courtesy of dealing, to treat him to half a mutchkin.
"You may see my dwelling if you will," said the stranger; "but if you
lose courage at what you see there, you will rue it all your life."
Dicken, however, laughed the warning to scorn, and having alighted to
secure his horse, he followed the stranger up a narrow foot-path, which
led them up the hills to the singular eminence stuck betwixt the most
southern and the centre peaks, and called, from its resemblance to such
an animal in its form, the Lucken Hare. At the foot of this eminence,
which is almost as famous for witch meetings as the neighbouring
wind-mill of Kippilaw, Dick was somewhat startled to observe that his
conductor entered the hill-side by a passage or cavern, of which he
himself, though well acquainted with the spot, had never seen or heard.
"You may still return," said his guide, looking ominously back upon
him; but Dick scorned to show the white feather, and on they went.
They entered a very long range of stables; in every stall stood a
coal-black horse; by every horse lay a knight in coal-black armour,
with a drawn sword in his hand; but all were as silent, hoof and limb, as
if they had been cut out of marble. A great number of torches lent a
gloomy lustre to the hall, which, like those of the Caliph Vathek, was
of large dimensions. At the upper end, however, they at length arrived,
where a sword and horn lay on an antique table.
"He that shall sound that horn and draw that sword," said the stranger,
who now intimated that he was the famous Thomas of Hersildoune,
"shall, if his heart fail him not, be king over all broad Britain. So speaks
the tongue that cannot lie. But all depends on courage, and much on
your taking the sword or the horn first." Dick was much disposed to
take the sword; but his bold spirit was quailed by the supernatural
terrors of the hall, and he thought to unsheathe the sword first, might be
construed into defiance, and give offence to the powers of the
Mountain. He took the bugle with a trembling hand, and a feeble note,
but loud enough to produce a terrible answer. Thunder rolled in
stunning peals through the immense hall; horses and men started to life;
the steeds snorted, stamped, grinned their bits, and tossed on high their
heads; the warriors sprung to their feet, clashed their armour, and
brandished their swords. Dick's terror was extreme at seeing the whole
army, which had been so lately silent as the grave, in uproar, and about
to rush on him. He dropped the horn, and made a feeble attempt to
seize the enchanted sword; but at the same moment a voice pronounced
aloud the mysterious words,-"Woe to the coward, that ever he was born, Who did not draw the
sword before he blew the horn!"
At the same time a whirlwind of irresistible fury howled through the
long hall, bore the unfortunate horse-jockey clear out of the mouth of
the cavern, and precipitated him over a steep bank of loose stones,
where the shepherds found him the next morning with just breath
sufficient to tell his fearful tale, after concluding which he expired.
This legend, with several variations, is found in many parts of Scotland
and England. The scene is sometimes laid in some favourite glen of the
Highlands, sometimes in the deep coal-mines of Northumberland and
Cumberland, which rim so far beneath the ocean. It is also to be found
in Reginald Scott's book on Witchcraft, which was written in the
sixteenth century. It would be in vain to ask what was the original of
the tradition. The choice between the horn and sword may, perhaps,
include as a moral that it is foolhardy to awaken danger before we have
arms in our hands to resist it.
Although admitting of much poetical ornament, it is clear that this
legend would have formed but an unhappy foundation for a prose story,
and must have degenerated into a mere fairy tale. Dr. John Leyden has
beautifully introduced the tradition in his "Scenes of Infancy":-"Mysterious Rhymer, doomed by fate's decree Still to revisit Eildon's
fated tree, Where oft the swain, at dawn of Hallow-day, Hears thy fleet
barb with wild impatience neigh,-- Say, who is he, with summons long
and high, Shall bid the charmed sleep of ages fly, Roll the long sound
through Eildon's caverns vast, While each dark warrior kindles at the
blast, The horn, the falchion, grasp with mighty hand, And peal proud
Arthur's march from Fairy-land?"
In the same cabinet with the preceding fragment, the following
occurred among other 'disjecta membra'. It seems to be an attempt at a
tale of a different description from the last, but was almost instantly
abandoned. The introduction points out the time of the composition to
have been about the end of the eighteenth century.
THE LORD OF ENNERDALE.
IN A FRAGMENT OF A LETTER FROM JOHN B_____, ESQ., OF
THAT ILK, TO WILLIAM G____, F.R.S.E.
"Fill a bumper," said the knight; "the ladies may spare us a little
longer. Fill a bumper to the Archduke Charles."
The company did due honour to the toast of their landlord.
"The success of the archduke," said the muddy vicar, "will tend to
further our negotiation at Paris; and if--"
"Pardon the interruption, Doctor," quoth a thin, emaciated figure, with
somewhat of a foreign accent; "but why should you connect those
events, unless to hope that the bravery and victories of our allies may
supersede the necessity of a degrading treaty?"
"We begin to feel, Monsieur L'Abbe," answered the vicar, with some
asperity, "that a Continental war entered into for the defence of an ally
who was unwilling to defend himself, and for the restoration of a royal
family, nobility, and priesthood who tamely abandoned their own rights,
is a burden too much even for the resources of this country."
"And was the war, then, on the part of Great Britain," rejoined the
Abbe, "a gratuitous exertion of generosity? Was there no fear of the
wide-wasting spirit of innovation which had gone abroad? Did not the
laity tremble for their property, the clergy for their religion, and every
loyal heart for the Constitution? Was it not thought necessary to
destroy the building which was on fire, ere the conflagration spread
around the vicinity?"
"Yet if upon trial," said the doctor, "the walls were found to resist our
utmost efforts, I see no great prudence in persevering in our labour
amid the smouldering ruins."
"What, Doctor," said the baronet, "must I call to your recollection your
own sermon on the late general fast? Did you not encourage us to hope
that the Lord of Hosts would go forth with our armies, and that our
enemies, who blasphemed him, should be put to shame?"
"It may please a kind father to chasten even his beloved children,"
answered the vicar.
"I think," said a gentleman near the foot of the table, "that the
Covenanters made some apology of the same kind for the failure of
their prophecies at the battle of Danbar, when their mutinous
preachers compelled the prudent Lesley to go down against the
Philistines in Gilgal."
The vicar fixed a scrutinizing and not a very complacent eye upon this
intruder. He was a young man, of mean stature and rather a reserved
appearance. Early and severe study had quenched in his features the
gaiety peculiar to his age, and impressed upon them a premature cast
of thoughtfulness. His eve had, however, retained its fire, and his
gesture its animation. Had he remained silent, he would have been long
unnoticed; but when he spoke, there was something in his manner
which arrested attention.
"Who is this young man?" said the vicar, in a low voice, to his
neighbour.
"A Scotchman called Maxwell, on a visit to Sir Henry," was the answer.
"I thought so, from his accent and his manner," said the vicar. It may
be here observed that the Northern English retain rather more of the
ancient hereditary aversion to their neighbors than their countrymen of
the South. The interference of other disputants, each of whom urged his
opinion with all the vehemence of wine and politics, rendered the
summons to the drawing-room agreeable to the more sober part of the
company.
The company dispersed by degrees, and at length the vicar and the
young Scotchman alone remained, besides the baronet, his lady,
daughters, and myself. The clergyman had not, it would seem, forgot
the observation which ranked him with the false prophets of Dunbar,
for he addressed Mr. Maxwell upon the first opportunity.
"Hem! I think, sir, you mentioned something about the civil wars of last
century. You must be deeply skilled in them indeed, if you can draw any
parallel betwixt those and the present evil days,--davs which I am
ready to maintain are the most gloomy that ever darkened the
prospects of Britain."
"God forbid, Doctor, that I should draw a comparison between the
present times and those you mention; I am too sensible of the
advantages we enjoy over our ancestors. Faction and ambition have
introduced division among us; but we are still free from the guilt of
civil bloodshed, and from all the evils which flow from it. Our foes, sir,
are not those of our own household; and while we continue united and
firm, from the attacks of a foreign enemy, however artful, or however
inveterate, we have, I hope, little to dread."
"Have you found anything curious, Mr. Maxwell, among the dusty
papers?" said Sir Henry, who seemed to dread a revival of political
discussion.
"My investigation amongst them led to reflection's which I have just
now hinted," said Maxwell; "and I think they are pretty strongly
exemplified by a story which I have been endeavouring to arrange from
some of your family manuscripts."
"You are welcome to make what use of them you please," said Sir
Henry; "they have been undisturbed for many a day, and I have often
wished for some person as well skilled as you in these old pothooks, to
tell me their meaning."
"Those I just mentioned," answered Maxwell, "relate to a piece of
private history savouring not a little of the marvellous, and intimately
connected with your family; if it is agreeable, I can read to you the
anecdotes in the modern shape into which I have been endeavouring to
throw them, and you can then judge of the value of the originals."
There was something in this proposal agreeable to all parties. Sir
Henry had family pride, which prepared him to take an interest in
whatever related to his ancestors. The ladies had dipped deeply into the
fashionable reading of the present day. Lady Ratcliff and her fair
daughters had climbed every pass, viewed every pine-shrouded ruin,
heard every groan, and lifted every trap-door, in company with the
noted heroine of "Udolpho." They had been heard, however, to observe
that the famous incident of the Black Veil singularly resembled the
ancient apologue of the Mountain in labour, so that they were
unquestionably critics, as well as admirers. Besides all this, they had
valorously mounted en croupe behind the ghostly horseman of Prague,
through all his seven translators, and followed the footsteps of Moor
through the forest of Bohemia. Moreover, it was even hinted (but this
was a greater mystery than all the rest) that a certain performance,
called the "Monk," in three neat volumes, had been seen by a prying
eye, in the right-hand drawer of the Indian cabinet of Lady Ratcliff's
dressing-room. Thus predisposed for wonders and signs, Lady Ratcliff
and her nymphs drew their chairs round a large blazing wood-fire, and
arranged themselves to listen to the tale. To that fire I also approached,
moved thereunto partly by the inclemency of the season, and partly that
my deafness, which you know, cousin, I acquired during my campaign
under Prince Charles Edward, might be no obstacle to the gratification
of my curiosity, which was awakened by what had any reference to the
fate of such faithful followers of royalty as you well know the house of
Ratcliff have ever been. To this wood-fire the vicar likewise drew near,
and reclined himself conveniently in his chair, seemingly disposed to
testify his disrespect for the narration and narrator by falling asleep as
soon as he conveniently could. By the side of Maxwell (by the way, I
cannot learn that he is in the least related to the Nithsdale family) was
placed a small table and a couple of lights, by the assistance of which
he read as follows:-"Journal of Jan Von Eulen.
"On the 6th November, 1645, I, Jan Von Enlen, merchant in Rotterdam,
embarked with my only daughter on board of the good vessel 'Vryheid,'
of Amsterdam, in order to pass into the unhappy and disturbed
kingdom of England.--7th November. A brisk gale; daughter sea-sick;
myself unable to complete the calculation which I have begun, of the
inheritance left by Jane Lansache, of Carlisle, my late dear wife's sister,
the collection of which is the object of my voyage.--8th November.
Wind still stormy and adverse; a horrid disaster nearly happened,--my
dear child washed overboard as the vessel lurched to
leeward.--Memorandum, to reward the young sailor who saved her, out
of the first moneys which I can recover from the inheritance of her aunt
Lansache.--9th November. Calm P.M. light breezes front N. N. W. I
talked with the captain about the inheritance of my sister-in-law, Jane
Lansache. He says he knows the principal subject, which will not
exceed L1000 in value.--N. B. He is a cousin to a family of Petersons,
which was the name of the husband of my sister-in-law; so there is
room to hope it may be worth more than be reports.--10th November,
10 A.M. May God pardon all our sins! An English frigate, bearing the
Parliament flag, has appeared in the offing, and gives chase.--11 A. M.
She nears us every moment, and the captain of our vessel prepares to
clear for action. May God again have mercy upon us!"
"Here," said Maxwell, "the journal with which I have opened the
narration ends somewhat abruptly."
"I am glad of it," said Lady Ratcliff.
"But, Mr. Maxwell," said young Frank, Sir Henry's grandchild, "shall
we not hear how the battle ended?"
I do not know, cousin, whether I have not formerly made you
acquainted with the abilities of Frank Ratcliff. There is not a battle
fought between the troops of the Prince and of the government, during
the years 1745-46, of which he is not able to give an account. It is true,
I have taken particular pains to fix the events of this important period
upon his memory by frequent repetition.
"No, my dear," said Maxwell, in answer to young Frank Itatcliff,--"No,
my dear, I cannot tell you the exact particulars of the engagement, but
its consequences appear from the following letter, despatched by
Garbonete Von Enlen, daughter of our journalist, to a relation in
England, from whom she implored assistance. After some general
account of the purpose of the voyage, and of the engagement, her
narrative proceeds thus:-"The noise of the cannon had hardly ceased, before the sounds of a
language to me but half known, and the confusion on board our vessel,
informed me that the captors had boarded us and taken possession of
our vessel. I went on deck, where the first spectacle that met my eyes
was a young man, mate of our vessel, who, though disfigured and
covered with blood, was loaded with irons, and whom they were
forcing over the side of the vessel into a boat. The two principal
persons among our enemies appeared to be a man of a tall, thin figure,
with a high-crowned hat and long neck band, and short-cropped head
of hair, accompanied by a bluff, open-looking elderly man in a naval
uniform. 'Yarely! yarely! pull away, my hearts,' said the latter, and the
boat bearing the unlucky young man soon carried him on board the
frigate. Perhaps you will blame me for mentioning this circumstance;
but consider, my dear cousin, this man saved my life, and his fate, even
when my own and my father's were in the balance, could not but affect
me nearly.
"'In the name of him who is jealous, even to slaying,' said the first--"
Cetera desunt.
No. II.
CONCLUSION OF MR. STRUTT'S ROMANCE OF QUEEN-HOO
HALL.
BY THE AUTHOR OF WAVERLEY.
CHAPTER IV.
A HUNTING PARTY.--AN ADVENTURE.--A DELIVERANCE.
The next morning the bugles were sounded by daybreak in the court of
Lord Boteler's mansion, to call the inhabitants from their slumbers, to
assist in a splendid chase, with which the baron had resolved to
entertain his neighbour Fitzallen and his noble visitor St. Clere. Peter
Lanaret the falconer was in attendance, with falcons for the knights,
and tiercelets for the ladies, if they should choose to vary their sport
from hunting to hawking. Five stout yeomen keepers, with their
attendants, called Bagged Robins, all meetly arrayed in Kendal green,
with bugles and short hangers by their sides, and quarterstaffs in their
hands, led the slow-hounds, or brackets, by which the deer were to be
put up. Ten brace of gallant greyhounds, each of which was fit to pluck
down, singly, the tallest red deer, were led in leashes by as many of
Lord Boteler's foresters. The pages, squires, and other attendants of
feudal splendour, well attired in their best hunting-gear, upon
horseback or foot, according to their rank,--with their boar-spears, long
bows, and cross-bows, were in seemly waiting.
A numerous train of yeomen, called in the language of the times
retainers, who yearly received a livery coat and a small pension for
their attendance on such solemn occasions, appeared in cassocks of
blue, bearing upon their arms the cognizance of the house of Boteler as
a badge of their adherence. They were the tallest men of their hands
that the neighbouring villages could supply, with every man his good
buckler on his shoulder, and a bright burnished broadsword dangling
from his leathern belt. On this occasion they acted as rangers for
beating up the thickets and rousing the game. These attendants filled up
the court of the castle, spacious as it was. On the green without, you
might have seen the motley assemblage of peasantry convened by
report of the splendid hunting, including most of our old acquaintances
from Tewin, as well as the jolly partakers of good cheer at Hob
Filcher's. Gregory the jester, it may well be guessed, had no great mind
to exhibit himself in public after his recent disaster; but Oswald the
steward, a great formalist in whatever concerned the public exhibition
of his master's household state, had positively enjoined his attendance.
"What," quoth he, "shall the house of the brave Lord Boteler, or such a
brave day as this, be without a fool? Certes, the good Lord St. Clere
and his fair lady sister might think our housekeeping as niggardly as
that of their churlish kinsman at Gay Bowers, who sent his father's
jester to the hospital, sold the poor sot's bells for hawk-jesses, and made
a nightcap of his long-eared bonnet. And, sirrah, let me see thee fool
handsomely,--speak squibs and crackers, instead of that dry, barren,
musty gibing which thou hast used of late; or, by the bones! the porter
shall have thee to his lodge, and cob thee with thine own wooden sword
till thy skin is as motley as thy doublet."
To this stern injunction, Gregory made no reply, any more than to the
courteous offer of old Albert Drawslot, the chief park-keeper, who
proposed to blow vinegar in his nose, to sharpen his wit, as he had done
that blessed morning to Bragger, the old hound, whose scent was
failing. There was, indeed, little time for reply, for the bugles, after a
lively flourish, were now silent, and Peretto, with his two attendant
minstrels, stepping beneath the windows of the strangers' apartments,
joined in the following roundelay, the deep voices of the rangers and
falconers making up a chorus that caused the very battlements to ring
again.
Waken, lords and ladies gay, On the mountain dawns the day; All the
jolly chase is here, With hawk and horse and hunting-spear Hounds are
in their couples yelling, Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling,
Merrily, merrily, mingle they, "Waken, lords and ladies gay."
Waken, lords and ladies gay, The mist has left the mountain gray;
Springlets in the dawn are streaming, Diamonds on the brake are
gleaming, And foresters have busy been, To track the buck in thicket
green; Now we come to chant our lay: "Waken, lords and ladies gay."
Waken, lords and ladies gay, To the green-wood haste away; We can
show you where he lies, Fleet of foot, and tall of size; We can show the
marks he made When 'gainst the oak his antlers frayed; You shall see
him brought to bay, "Waken, lords and ladies gay."
Louder, louder chant the lay, "Waken, lords and ladies gay;" Tell them,
youth and mirth and glee Run a course as well as we. Time, stern
huntsman, who can baulk, Staunch as hound, and fleet as hawk? Think
of this, and rise with day, Gentle lords and ladies gay.
By the time this lay was finished, Lord Boteler, with his daughter and
kinsman, Fitzallen of Harden, and other noble guests had mounted their
palfreys, and the hunt set forward in due order. The huntsmen, having
carefully observed the traces of a large stag on the preceding evening,
were able, without loss of time, to conduct the company, by the marks
which they had made upon the trees, to the side of the thicket in which,
by the report of Drawslot, he had harboured all night. The horsemen
spreading themselves along the side of the cover, waited until the
keeper entered, leading his bandog, a large blood-hound tied in a leam
or band, from which he takes his name.
But it befell this. A hart of the second year, which was in the same
cover with the proper object of their pursuit, chanced to be unharboured
first, and broke cover very near where the Lady Emma and her brother
were stationed. An inexperienced varlet, who was nearer to them,
instantly unloosed two tall greyhounds, who sprung after the fugitive
with all the fleetness of the north wind. Gregory, restored a little to
spirits by the enlivening scene around him, followed, encouraging the
hounds with a loud tayout,--[Tailliers-hors; in modern phrase,
Tally-ho]--for which he had the hearty curses of the huntsman, as well
as of the baron, who entered into the spirit of the chase with all the
juvenile ardour of twenty. "May the foul fiend, booted and spurred, ride
down his bawling throat, with a scythe at his girdle," quoth Albert
Drawslot; "here have I been telling him that all the marks were those of
a buck of the first head, and he has hollowed the hounds upon a
velvet-headed knobbler! By Saint Hubert, if I break not his pate with
my cross-bow, may I never cast off hound more! But to it, my lords and
masters! the noble beast is here yet, and, thank the saints, we have
enough of hounds."
The cover being now thoroughly beat by the attendants, the stag was
compelled to abandon it, and trust to his speed for his safety. Three
greyhounds were slipped upon him, whom he threw out, after running a
couple of miles, by entering an extensive furzy brake which extended
along the side of a hill. The horsemen soon came up, and casting off a
sufficient number of slowhounds, sent them, with the prickers, into the
cover, in order to chive the game from his strength. This object being
accomplished, afforded another severe chase of several miles, in a
direction almost circular, during which the poor animal tried ever wile
to get rid of his persecutors. He crossed and traversed all such dusty
paths as were likely to retain the least scent of his footsteps; he laid
himself close to the ground, drawing his feet under his belly, and
clapping his nose close to the earth, lest he should be betrayed to the
hounds by his breath and hoofs. When all was in vain, and he found the
hounds coming fast in upon him, his own strength failing, his mouth
embossed with foam, and the tears dropping from his eyes, he turned in
despair upon his pursuers, who then stood at gaze, making an hideous
clamour, and awaiting their two-footed auxiliaries. Of these, it chanced
that the Lady Eleanor, taking more pleasure in the sport than Matilda,
and being a less burden to her palfrey than the Lord Boteler, was the
first who arrived at the spot, and taking a cross-bow from an attendant,
discharged a bolt at the stag. When the infuriated animal felt himself
wounded, he pushed franticly towards her from whom he had received
the shaft, and Lady Eleanor might have had occasion to repent of her
enterprise had not young Fitzallen, who had kept near her during the
whole day, at that instant galloped briskly in, and ere the stag could
change his object of assault, despatched him with his short
hunting-sword.
Albert Drawslot, who had just come up in terror for the young lady's
safety, broke out into loud encomiums upon Fitzallen's strength and
gallantry. "By 'r Lady," said he, taking off his cap, and wiping his
sun-burnt face with his sleeve, "well struck, and in good time! But now,
boys, doff your bonnets, and sound the mort."
The sportsmen then sounded a treble mort and set up a general whoop,
which, mingled with the yelping of the dogs, made the welkin ring
again. The huntsman then offered his knife to Lord Boteler, that he
might take the say of the deer; but the baron courteously insisted upon
Fitzallen going through that ceremony. The Lady Matilda was now
come up, with most of the attendants; and the interest of the chase
being ended, it excited some surprise that neither St. Clere nor his sister
made their appearance. The Lord Boteler commanded the horns again
to sound the recheat, in hopes to call in the stragglers, and said to
Fitzallen: "Methinks St. Clere, so distinguished for service in war,
should have been more forward in the chase."
"I trow," said Peter Lanaret, "I know the reason of the noble lord's
absence; for when that moon-calf, Gregory, hallooed the dogs upon the
knobbler, and galloped like a green hilding, as he is, after them, I saw
the Lady Emma's palfrey follow apace after that varlet, who should be
trashed for overrunning, and I think her noble brother has followed her,
lest she should come to harm. But here, by the rood, is Gregory to
answer for himself."
At this moment Gregory entered the circle which had been formed
round the deer, out of breath, and his face covered with blood. He kept
for some time uttering inarticulate cries of "Harrow!" and "Wellaway!"
and other exclamations of distress and terror, pointing all the while to a
thicket at some distance from the spot where the deer had been killed.
"By my honour," said the baron, "I would gladly know who has dared
to array the poor knave thus; and I trust he should dearly aby his
outrecuidance, were he the best, save one, in England."
Gregory, who had now found more breath, cried, "Help, an ye be men!
Save Lady Emma and her brother, whom they are murdering in
Brockenhurst thicket."
This put all in motion. Lord Boteler hastily commanded a small party
of his men to abide for the defence of the ladies, while he himself,
Fitzallen, and the rest made what speed they could towards the thicket,
guided by Gregory, who for that purpose was mounted behind Fabian.
Pushing through a narrow path, the first object they encountered was a
man of small stature lying on the ground, mastered and almost
strangled by two dogs, which were instantly recognized to be those that
had accompanied Gregory. A little farther was an open space, where
lay three bodies of dead or wounded men; beside these was Lady
Emma, apparently lifeless, her brother and a young forester bending
over and endeavouring to recover her. By employing the usual
remedies, this was soon accomplished; while Lord Boteler, astonished
at such a scene, anxiously inquired at St. Clere the meaning of what he
saw, and whether more danger was to be expected?
"For the present, I trust not," said the young warrior, who they now
observed was slightly wounded; "but I pray you, of your nobleness, let
the woods here be searched; for we were assaulted by four of these base
assassins, and I see three only on the sward."
The attendants now brought forward the person whom they had rescued
from the dogs, and Henry, with disgust, shame, and astonishment,
recognized his kinsman, Gaston St. Clere. This discovery he
communicated in a whisper to Lord Boteler, who commanded the
prisoner to be conveyed to Queen-Hoo Hall and closely guarded;
meanwhile he anxiously inquired of young St. Clere about his wound.
"A scratch, a trifle!" cried Henry; "I am in less haste to bind it than to
introduce to you one without whose aid that of the leech would have
come too late. Where is he? Where is my brave deliverer?"
"Here, most noble lord," said Gregory, sliding from his palfrey and
stepping forward, "ready to receive the guerdon which your bounty
would heap on him."
"Truly, friend Gregory," answered the young warrior, "thou shalt not be
forgotten; for thou didst run speedily and roar manfully for aid, without
which, I think verily, we had not received it. But the brave forester who
came to my rescue when these three ruffians had nigh overpowered me,
where is he?"
Every one looked around; but though all had seen him on entering the
thicket, he was not now to be found. They could only conjecture that he
had retired during the confusion occasioned by the detention of Gaston.
"Seek not for him," said the Lady Emma, who had now in some degree
recovered her composure; "he will not be found of mortal, unless at his
own season."
The baron, convinced from this answer that her terror had, for the time,
somewhat disturbed her reason, forebore to question her; and Matilda
and Eleanor, to whom a message had been despatched with the result of
this strange adventure, arriving, they took the Lady Emma between
them, and all in a body returned to the castle.
The distance was, however, considerable, and before reaching it they
had another alarm. The prickers, who rode foremost in the troop, halted,
and announced to the Lord Boteler, that they perceived advancing
towards them a body of armed men. The followers of the baron were
numerous, but they were arrayed for the chase, not for battle; and it was
with great pleasure that he discerned, on the pennon of the advancing
body of men-at-arms, instead of the cognizance of Gaston, as he had
some reason to expect, the friendly bearings of Fitzosborne of
Diggswell, the same young lord who was present at the May-games
with Fitzallen of Marden. The knight himself advanced, sheathed in
armour, and, without raising his visor, informed Lord Boteler, that
having heard of a base attempt made upon a part of his train by
ruffianly assassins, he had mounted and armed a small party of his
retainers, to escort them to Queen-Hoo Hall. Having received and
accepted an invitation to attend them thither, they prosecuted their
journey in confidence and security, and arrived safe at home without
any further accident.
CHAPTER V.
INVESTIGATION OF THE ADVENTURE OF THE HUNTING.--A
DISCOVERY. --GREGORY'S MANHOOD.--FATE OF GASTON ST.
CLERE.--CONCLUSION.
So soon as they arrived at the princely mansion of Boteler, the Lady
Emma craved permission to retire to her chamber, that she might
compose her spirits after the terror she had undergone. Henry St. Clere,
in a few words, proceeded to explain the adventure to the curious
audience. "I had no sooner seen my sister's palfrey, in spite of her
endeavours to the contrary, entering with spirit into the chase set on
foot by the worshipful Gregory than I rode after to give her assistance.
So long was the chase that when the greyhounds pulled down the
knobbler, we were out of hearing of your bugles; and having rewarded
and coupled the dogs, I gave them to be led by the jester, and we
wandered in quest of our company, whom, it would seem, the sport had
led in a different direction. At length, passing through the thicket where
you found us, I was surprised by a cross-bow bolt whizzing past mine
head. I drew my sword and rushed into the thicket, but was instantly
assailed by two ruffians, while other two made towards my sister and
Gregory. The poor knave fled, crying for help, pursued by my false
kinsman, now your prisoner; and the designs of the other on my poor
Emma (murderous no doubt) were prevented by the sudden apparition
of a brave woodsman, who, after a short encounter, stretched the
miscreant at his feet and came to my assistance. I was already slightly
wounded, and nearly overlaid with odds. The combat lasted some time,
for the caitiffs were both well armed, strong, and desperate; at length,
however, we had each mastered our antagonist, when your retinue, my
Lord Boteler, arrived to my relief. So ends in my story; but, on my
knighthood, I would give an earl's ransom for an opportunity of
thanking the gallant forester by whose aid I live to tell it."
"Fear not," said Lord Boteler; "he shall be found if this or the four
adjacent counties hold him. And now Lord Fitzosborne will be pleased
to doff the armour he has so kindly assumed for our sakes, and we will
all bowne ourselves for the banquet."
When the hour of dinner approached, the Lady Matilda and her cousin
visited the chamber of the fair Darcy. They found her in a composed
but melancholy posture. She turned the discourse upon the misfortunes
of her life, and hinted that having recovered her brother, and seeing him
look forward to the society of one who would amply repay to him the
loss of hers, she had thoughts of dedicating her remaining life to
Heaven, by whose providential interference it had been so often
preserved.
Matilda coloured deeply at something in this speech, and her cousin
inveighed loudly against Emma's resolution. "Ah, my dear Lady
Eleanor," replied she, "I have to-day witnessed what I cannot but judge
a supernatural visitation, and to what end can it call me but to give
myself to the altar? That peasant who guided me, to Baddow through
the Park of Danbury, the same who appeared before me at different
times and in different forms during that eventful journey,--that youth,
whose features are imprinted on my memory, is the very individual
forester who this day rescued us in the forest. I cannot be mistaken; and
connecting these marvellous appearances with the spectre which I saw
while at Gay Bowers, I cannot resist the conviction that Heaven has
permitted my guardian angel to assume mortal shape for my relief and
protection."
The fair cousins, after exchanging looks which implied a fear that her
mind was wandering, answered her in soothing terms, and finally
prevailed upon her to accompany them to the banqueting-hall. Here the
first person they encountered was the Baron Fitzosborne of Diggswell,
now divested of his armour; at the sight of whom the Lady Emma
changed colour, and exclaiming, "It is the same!" sunk senseless into
the arms of Matilda.
"She is bewildered by the terrors of the day," said Eleanor; "and we
have done ill in obliging her to descend."
"And I," said Fitzosborne, "have done madly in presenting before her
one whose presence must recall moments the most alarming in her
life."
While the ladies supported Emma from the hall, Lord Boteler and St.
Clere requested an explanation from Fitzosborne of the words he had
used.
"Trust me, gentle lords," said the Baron of Diggswell, "ye shall have
what ye demand, when I learn that Lady Emma Darcy has not suffered
from my imprudence."
At this moment Lady Matilda, returning, said that her fair friend, on her
recovery, had calmly and deliberately insisted that she had seen
Fitzosborne before, in the most dangerous crisis of her life.
"I dread," said she, "her disordered mind connects all that her eye
beholds with the terrible passages that she has witnessed."
"Nay," said Fitzosborne, "if noble St. Clere can pardon the
unauthorized interest which, with the purest and most honourable
intentions, I have taken in his sister's fate, it is easy for me to explain
this mysterious impression."
He proceeded to say that, happening to be in the hostelry called the
Griffin, near Baddow, while upon a journey in that country, he had met
with the old nurse of the Lady Emma Darcy, who, being just expelled
front Gay Bowers, was in the height of her grief and indignation, and
made loud and public proclamation of Lady Emma's wrongs. From the
description she gave of the beauty of her foster-child, as well as from
the spirit of chivalry, Fitzosborne became interested in her fate. This
interest was deeply enhanced when, by a bribe to Old Gaunt the Reve,
he procured a view of the Lady Emma as she walked near the castle of
Gay Bowers. The aged churl refused to give him access to the castle,
yet dropped some hints, as if he thought the lady in danger, and wished
she were well out of it. His master, he said, had heard she had a brother
in life, and since that deprived him of all chance of gaining her domains
by purchase, he, in short, Gaunt wished they were safely separated. "If
any injury," quoth he, "should happen to the damsel here, it were ill for
us all. I tried, by an innocent stratagem, to frighten her from the castle
by introducing a figure through a trap-door and warning her, as if by a
voice from the dead, to retreat from thence; but the giglet is wilful, and
is running upon her fate."
Finding Gaunt, although covetous and communicative, too faithful a
servant to his wicked master to take any active steps against his
commands, Fitzosborne applied himself to old Ursely, whom he found
more tractable. Through her he learned the dreadful plot Gaston had
laid to rid himself of his kinswoman, and resolved to effect her
deliverance. But aware of the delicacy of Emma's situation, he charged
Ursely to conceal from her the interest he took in her distress, resolving
to watch over her in disguise until he saw her in a place of safety.
Hence the appearance he made before her in various dresses during her
journey, in the course of which he was never far distant; and he had
always four stout yeomen within hearing of his bugle, had assistance
been necessary. When she was placed in safety at the lodge, it was
Fitzosborne's intention to have prevailed upon his sisters to visit, and
take her under their protection; but he found them absent from
Diggswell, having gone to attend an aged relation who lay dangerously
ill in a distant county. They did not return until the day before the
May-games; and the other events followed too rapidly to permit
Fitzosborne to lay any plan for introducing them to Lady Emma Darcy.
On the day of the chase he resolved to preserve his romantic disguise
and attend the Lady Emma as a forester, partly to have the pleasure of
being near her, and partly to judge whether, according to an idle report
in the country, she favoured his friend and comrade Fitzallen of
Marden. This last motive, it may easily be believed, he did not declare
to the company. After the skirmish with the ruffians, he waited till the
baron and the hunters arrived, and then, still doubting the further
designs of Gaston, hastened to his castle to arm the band which had
escorted them to Queen-Hoo Hall.
Fitzosborne's story being finished, he received the thanks of all the
company, particularly of St. Clere, who felt deeply the respectful
delicacy with which he had conducted himself towards his sister. The
lady was carefully informed of her obligations to him; and it is left to
the well-judging reader whether even the raillery of Lady Eleanor made
her regret that Heaven had only employed natural means for her
security, and that the guardian angel was converted into a handsome,
gallant, and enamoured knight.
The joy of the company in the hall extended itself to the buttery, where
Gregory the jester narrated such feats of arms done by himself in the
fray of the morning as might have shamed Bevis and Guy of Warwick.
He was, according to his narrative, singled out for destruction by the
gigantic baron himself, while he abandoned to meaner hands the
destruction of St. Clere and Fitzosborne.
"But, certes," said he, "the foul paynim met his match; for, ever as he
foined at me with his brand, I parried his blows with my bauble, and
closing with him upon the third veny, threw him to the ground, and
made him cryrecreant to an unarmed man."
"Tush, man!" said Drawslot, "thou forgettest thy best auxiliaries, the
good greyhounds, Help and Holdfast! I warrant thee that when the
humpbacked baron caught thee by the cowl, which he hath almost torn
off, thou hadst been in a fair plight, had they not remembered an old
friend and come in to the rescue. Why, man, I found them fastened on
him myself; and there was odd staving and stickling to make them
'ware haunch!' Their mouths were full of the flex, for I pulled a piece of
the garment from their jaws. I warrant thee that when they brought him
to ground, thou fledst like a frighted pricket."
"And as for Gregory's gigantic paynim," said Fabian, "why, he lies
yonder in the guard-room, the very size, shape, and colour of a spider
in a yewhedge."
"It is false!" said Gregory; "Colbrand the Dane was a dwarf to him."
"It is as true," returned Fabian, "as that the Tasker is to be married on
Tuesday to pretty Margery. Gregory, thy sheet hath brought them
between a pair of blankets."
"I care no more for such a gillflirt," said the Jester, "than I do for thy
leasings. Marry, thou hop-o'-my-thumb, happy wouldst thou be could
thy head reach the captive baron's girdle."
"By the Mass," said Peter Lanaret, "I will have one peep at this burly
gallant;" and leaving the buttery, he went to the guard-room where
Gaston St. Clere was confined. A man-at-arms, who kept sentinel on
the strong studded door of the apartment, said he believed he slept; for
that after raging, stamping, and uttering the most horrid imprecations,
he had been of late perfectly still. The falconer gently drew back a
sliding board, of a foot square, towards the top of the door, which
covered a hole of the same size, strongly latticed, through which the
warder, without opening the door, could look in upon his prisoner.
From this aperture he beheld the wretched Gaston suspended by the
neck, by his own girdle, to an iron ring in the side of his prison. He had
clambered to it by means of the table on which his food had been
placed; and in the agonies of shame and disappointed malice, had
adopted this mode of ridding himself of a wretched life. He was found
yet warm, but totally lifeless. A proper account of the manner of his
death was drawn up and certified. He was buried that evening in the
chapel of the castle, out of respect to his high birth; and the chaplain of
Fitzallen of Marden, who said the service upon the occasion, preached,
the next Sunday, an excellent sermon upon the text, "Radix malorum
est cupiditas," which we have here transcribed.
................
[Here the manuscript from which we have painfully transcribed, and
frequently, as it were, translated this tale, for the reader's edification, is
so indistinct and defaced that, excepting certain "howbeits,"
"nathlesses," "lo ye's!" etc. we can pick out little that is intelligible,
saving that avarice is defined "a likourishness of heart after earthly
things."] A little farther there seems to have been a gay account of
Margery's wedding with Ralph the Tasker, the running at the quintain,
and other rural games practised on the occasion. There are also
fragments of a mock sermon preached by Gregory upon that occasion,
as for example:-"Mv dear cursed caitiffs, there was once a king, and he wedded a young
old queen, and she had a child; and this child was sent to Solomon the
Sage, praying he would give it the same blessing which he got from the
witch of Endor when she bit him by the heel. Hereof speaks the worthy
Dr. Radigundus Potator. Why should not Mass be said for all the
roasted shoe souls served up in the king's dish on Saturday? For true it
is that Saint Peter asked father Adam, as they journeyed to Camelot, an
high, great, and doubtful question: 'Adam, Adam, why eated'st thou the
apple without paring?'"
[This tirade of gibberish is literally taken or selected from a mock
discourse pronounced by a professed jester, which occurs in an ancient
manuscript in the Advocates' Library, the same from which the late
ingenious Mr. Weber published the curious comic romance of the
"Limiting of the Hare." It was introduced in compliance with Mr.
Strutt's plan of rendering his tale an illustration of ancient manners. A
similar burlesque sermon is pronounced by the Fool in Sir David
Lindesay's satire of the "Three Estates." The nonsense and vulgar
burlesque of that composition illustrate the ground of Sir Andrew,
Aguecheek's eulogy on the exploits of the jester in "Twelfth Night,"
who, reserving his sharper jests for Sir Toby, had doubtless enough of
the jargon of his calling to captivate the imbecility of his brother knight,
who is made to exclaim: "In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling
last night when thou spokest of Pigrogremitus, and of the vapours
passing the equinoctials of Quenbus; 't was very good, i' faith!" It is
entertaining to find commentators seeking to discover some meaning in
the professional jargon of such a passage as this.]
With much goodly gibberish to the same effect, which display of
Gregory's ready wit not only threw the whole company into
convulsions of laughter, but made such an impression on Rose, the
Potter's daughter, that it was thought it would be the jester's own fault if
Jack was long without his Jill. Much pithy matter concerning the
bringing the bride to bed, the loosing the bridegroom's points, the
scramble which ensued for them, and the casting of the stocking, is also
omitted, from its obscurity.
The following song, which has been since borrowed by the worshipful
author of the famous "History of Fryar Bacon," has been with difficulty
deciphered. It seems to have been sung on occasion of carrying home
the bride.
BRIDAL SONG.
To the tune of "I have been a Fiddler," etc. And did you not hear of a
mirth befell
The morrow after a wedding-day, And carrying a bride at home to
dwell? And away to Tewin, away, away!
The quintain was set, and the garlands were made,-- 'T is pity old
customs should ever decay; And woe be to him that was horsed on a
jade, For he carried no credit away, away.
We met a consort of fiddle-de-dees; We set them a cockhorse, and
made them play The winning of Bullen, and Upsey-fires, And away to
Tewin, away, away!
There was ne'er a lad in all the parish That would go to the plough that
day; But on his fore-horse his wench he carries, And away to Tewin,
away, away!
The butler was quick, and the ale he did tap, The maidens did make the
chamber full gay; The servants did give me a fuddling cup, And I did
carry 't away, away.
The smith of the town his liquor so took That he was persuaded that the
ground looked blue; And I dare boldly be sworn on a book Such smiths
as he there 's but a few.
A posset was made, and the women did sip, And simpering said they
could eat no more; Full many a maiden was laid on the lip,-- I'll say no
more, but give o'er (give o'er).
But what our fair readers will chiefly regret is the loss of three
declarations of love: the first by St. Clore to Matilda, which, with the
lady's answer, occupies fifteen closely written pages of manuscript.
That of Fitzosborne to Emma is not much shorter; but the amours of
Fitzallen and Eleanor, being of a less romantic cast, are closed in three
pages only. The three noble couples were married in Queen-Hoo Hall
upon the same day, being the twentieth Sunday after Easter. There is a
prolix account of the marriage-feast, of which we can pick out the
names of a few dishes, such as peterel, crane, sturgeon, swan, etc., with
a profusion of wild-fowl and venison. We also see that a suitable song
was produced by Peretto on the occasion, and that the bishop, who
blessed the bridal beds which received the happy couples, was no
niggard of his holy water, bestowing half a gallon upon each of the
couches. We regret we cannot give these curiosities to the reader in
detail, but we hope to expose the manuscript to abler antiquaries, so
soon as it shall be framed and glazed by the ingenious artist who
rendered that service to Mr. Ireland's Shakspeare manuscripts. And so
(being unable to lay aside the style to which our pen is habituated),
gentle reader, we bid thee heartily farewell.
No. III.
ANECDOTE OF SCHOOL DAYS,
UPON WHICH MR. THOMAS SCOTT PROPOSED TO FOUND A
TALE OF FICTION.
It is well known in the South that there is little or no boxing at the
Scottish schools. About forty or fifty years ago, however, a far more
dangerous mode of fighting, in parties or factions, was permitted in the
streets of Edinburgh, to the great disgrace of the police, and danger of
the parties concerned. These parties were generally formed from the
quarters of the town in which the combatants resided, those of a
particular square or district fighting against those of an adjoining one.
Hence it happened that the children of the higher classes were often
pitted against those of the lower, each taking their side according to the
residence of their friends. So far as I recollect, however, it was
unmingled either with feelings of democracy or aristocracy, or, indeed,
with malice or ill-will of any kind towards the opposite party. In fact, it
was only a rough mode of play. Such contests were, however,
maintained with great vigour with stones and sticks and fisticuffs, when
one party dared to charge, and the other stood their ground. Of course
mischief sometimes happened; boys are said to have been killed at
these "bickers," as they were called, and serious accidents certainly
took place, as many contemporaries can bear witness.
The Author's father residing in George Square, in the southern side of
Edinburgh, the boys belonging to that family, with others in the square,
were arranged into a sort of company, to which a lady of distinction
presented a handsome set of colours. Now this company, or regiment,
as a matter of course, was engaged in weekly warfare with the boys
inhabiting the Crosscauseway, Bristo Street, the Potter Row,--in short,
the neighbouring suburbs. These last were chiefly of the lower rank, but
hardy loons, who threw stones to a hair's-breadth, and were very
rugged antagonists at close quarters. The skirmish sometimes lasted for
a whole evening, until one party or the other was victorious, when, if
ours were successful, we drove the enemy to their quarters, and were
usually chased back by the reinforcement of bigger lads who came to
their assistance. If, on the contrary, we were pursued, as was often the
case, into the precincts of our square, we were in our turn supported by
our elder brothers, domestic servants, and similar auxiliaries.
It followed, from our frequent opposition to each other, that though not
knowing the names of our enemies, we were yet well acquainted with
their appearance, and had nicknames for the most remarkable of them.
One very active and spirited boy might be considered as the principal
leader in the cohort of the suburbs. He was, I suppose, thirteen or
fourteen years old, finely made, tall, blue-eyed, with long fair hair, the
very picture of a youthful Goth. This lad was always first in the charge,
and last in the retreat,--the Achilles, at once, and Ajax of the
Crosscauseway. He was too formidable to us not to have a cognomen,
and, like that of a knight of old, it was taken from the most remarkable
part of his dress, being a pair of old green livery breeches, which was
the principal part of his clothing; for, like Pentapolin, according to Don
Quixote's account, Green-Breeks, as we called him, always entered the
battle with bare arms, legs, and feet.
It fell that once upon a time, when the combat was at the thickest, this
plebeian champion headed a sudden charge so rapid and furious that all
fled before him. He was several paces before his comrades, and had
actually laid his hands on the patrician standard, when one of our party,
whom some misjudging friend had intrusted with a couteau de chasse,
or hanger, inspired with a zeal for the honour of the corps worthy of
Major Sturgeon himself, struck poor Green-Breeks over the head with
strength sufficient to cut him down. When this was seen, the casualty
was so far beyond what had ever taken place before that both parties
fled different ways, leaving poor Green-Breeks, with his bright hair
plentifully dabbled in blood, to the care of the watchman, who (honest
man) took care not to know who had done the mischief. The bloody
hanger was flung into one of the Meadow ditches, and solemn secrecy
was sworn on all hands; but the remorse and terror of the actor were
beyond all bounds, and his apprehensions of the most dreadful
character. The wounded hero was for a few days in the Infirmary, the
case being only a trifling one. But though inquiry was strongly pressed
on him, no argument could make him indicate the person from whom
he had received the wound, though he must have been perfectly well
known to him. When he recovered, and was dismissed, the author and
his brothers opened a communication with him, through the medium of
a popular gingerbread baker, of whom both parties were customers, in
order to tender a subsidy in name of smart-money. The sum would
excite ridicule were I to name it; but sure I am that the pockets of the
noted Green-Breeks never held as much money of his own. He declined
the remittance, saying that he would not sell his blood, but at the same
time reprobated the idea of being an informer, which, he said, was
"clam," i.e., base or mean. With much urgency, he accepted a pound of
snuff for the use of some old woman--aunt, grandmother, or the
like--with whom he lived. We did not become friends, for the bickers
were more agreeable to both parties than any more pacific amusement;
but we conducted them ever after under mutual assurances of the
highest consideration for each other.
Such was the hero whom Mr. Thomas Scott proposed to carry to
Canada and involve in adventures with the natives and colonists of that
country. Perhaps the youthful generosity of the lad will not seem so
great in the eyes of others as to those whom it was the means of
screening from severe rebuke and punishment. But it seemed, to those
concerned, to argue a nobleness of sentiment far beyond the pitch of
most minds; and however obscurely the lad, who showed such a frame
of noble spirit, may have lived or died, I cannot help being of opinion,
that if fortune had placed him in circumstances calling for gallantry or
generosity, the man would have fulfilled the promises of the boy. Long
afterwards, when the story was told to my father, he censured us
severely for not telling the truth at the time, that he might have
attempted to be of use to the young man in entering on life. But our
alarms for the consequences of the drawn sword, and the wound
inflicted with such a weapon, were far too predominant at the time for
such a pitch of generosity.
Perhaps I ought not to have inserted this schoolboy tale; but besides the
strong impression made by the incident at the time, the whole
accompaniments of the story are matters to me of solemn and sad
recollection. Of all the little band who were concerned in those juvenile
sports or brawls, I can scarce recollect a single survivor. Some left the
ranks of mimic war to die in the active service of their country. Many
sought distant lands, to return no more. Others, dispersed in different
paths of life, "my dim eyes now seek for in vain." Of five brothers, all
healthy and promising in a degree far beyond one whose infancy was
visited by personal infirmity, and whose health after this period seemed
long very precarious, I am, nevertheless, the only survivor. The best
loved, and the best deserving to be loved, who had destined this
incident to be the foundation of literary composition, died "before his
day," in a distant and foreign land; and trifles assume an importance not
their own, when connected with those who have been loved and lost.
WAVERLEY;
OR,
'T IS SIXTY YEARS SINCE.
"Under which King, Bezonian? Speak, or die!" Henry IV.,
Part II.
EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION TO WAVERLEY.
"What is the value of a reputation that probably will not last above one
or two generations?" Sir Walter Scott once asked Ballantyne. Two
generations, according to the usual reckoning, have passed; "'T is Sixty
Years since" the "wondrous Potentate" of Wordsworth's sonnet died,
yet the reputation on which he set so little store survives. A constant
tide of new editions of his novels flows from the press; his plots give
materials for operas and plays; he has been criticised, praised,
condemned: but his romances endure amid the changes of taste,
remaining the delight of mankind, while new schools and little masters
of fiction come and go.
Scott himself believed that even great works usually suffer periods of
temporary occultation. His own, no doubt, have not always been in
their primitive vogue. Even at first, English readers complained of the
difficulty caused by his Scotch, and now many make his I "dialect" an
excuse for not reading books which their taste, debauched by third-rate
fiction, is incapable of enjoying. But Scott has never disappeared in one
of those irregular changes of public opinion remarked on by his friend
Lady Louisa Stuart. In 1821 she informed him that she had tried the
experiment of reading Mackenzie's "Man of Feeling" aloud: "Nobody
cried, and at some of the touches I used to think so exquisite, they
laughed."--[Abbotsford Manuscripts.]--His correspondent requested
Scott to write something on such variations of taste, which actually
seem to be in the air and epidemic, for they affect, as she remarked,
young people who have not heard the criticisms of their elders.--[See
Scott's reply, with the anecdote about Mrs. Aphra Behn's novels,
Lockhart, vi. 406 (edition of 1839).]--Thus Rousseau's "Nouvelle
Heloise," once so fascinating to girls, and reputed so dangerous, had
become tedious to the young, Lady Louisa says, even in 1821. But to
the young, if they have any fancy and intelligence, Scott is not tedious
even now; and probably his most devoted readers are boys, girls, and
men of matured appreciation and considerable knowledge of literature.
The unformed and the cultivated tastes are still at one about Scott. He
holds us yet with his unpremeditated art, his natural qualities of
friendliness, of humour, of sympathy. Even the carelessness with which
his earliest and his kindest critics--Ellis, Erskine, and Lady Louisa
Stuart--reproached him has not succeeded in killing his work and
diminishing his renown.
It is style, as critics remind us, it is perfection of form, no doubt, that
secure the permanence of literature; but Scott did not overstate his own
defects when he wrote in his Journal (April 22, 1826): "A solecism in
point of composition, like a Scotch word, is indifferent to me. I never
learned grammar. . . . I believe the bailiff in 'The Goodnatured Man' is
not far wrong when he says: 'One man has one way of expressing
himself, and another another; and that is all the difference between
them.'" The difference between Scott and Thackeray or Flaubert among
good writers, and a crowd of self-conscious and mannered "stylists"
among writers not so very good, is essential. About Shakspeare it was
said that he "never blotted a line." The observation is almost literally
true about Sir Walter. The pages of his manuscript novels show
scarcely a retouch or an erasure, whether in the "Waverley" fragment of
1805 or the unpublished "Siege of Malta" of 1832.
[A history of Scott's Manuscripts, with good fac-similes, will be found
in the Catalogue of the Scott Exhibition, Edinburgh, 1872.]
The handwriting becomes closer and smaller; from thirty-eight lines to
the page in "Waverley," he advances to between fifty and sixty in
"Ivanhoe." The few alterations are usually additions. For example, a
fresh pedantry of the Baron of Bradwardine's is occasionally set down
on the opposite page. Nothing can be less like the method of Flaubert
or the method of Mr. Ruskin, who tells us that "a sentence of 'Modern
Painters' was often written four or five tunes over in my own hand, and
tried in every word for perhaps an hour,--perhaps a forenoon,--before it
was passed for the printer." Each writer has his method; Scott was no
stipples or niggler, but, as we shall see later, he often altered much in
his proof-sheets.
[While speaking of correction, it may be noted that Scott, in his
"Advertisement" prefixed to the issue of 1829, speaks of changes made
in that collected edition. In "Waverley" these emendations are very rare,
and are unimportant. A few callidae juncturae are added, a very few
lines are deleted. The postscript of the first edition did not contain the
anecdote about the hiding-place of the manuscript among the fishing
tackle. The first line of Flora Macdonald's battle-song (chapter xxii.)
originally ran, "Mist darkens the mountain, night darkens the vale," in
place of "There is mist on the mountain and mist on the vale." For the
rest, as Scott says, "where the tree falls it must lie."]
As long as he was understood, he was almost reckless of
well-constructed sentences, of the one best word for his meaning, of
rounded periods. This indifference is not to be praised, but it is only a
proof of his greatness that his style, never distinguished, and often lax,
has not impaired the vitality of his prose. The heart which beats in his
works, the knowledge of human nature, the dramatic vigour of his
character, the nobility of his whole being win the day against the
looseness of his manner, the negligence of his composition, against the
haste of fatigue which set him, as Lady Louisa Stuart often told him, on
"huddling up a conclusion anyhow, and so kicking the book out of his
way." In this matter of denouements he certainly was no more careful
than Shakspeare or Moliere.
The permanence of Sir Walter's romances is proved, as we said, by
their survival among all the changes of fashion in the art of fiction.
When he took up his pen to begin "Waverley," fiction had not absorbed,
as it does to-day, almost all the best imaginative energy of English or
foreign writers. Now we hear of "art" on every side, and every novelist
must give the world his opinion about schools and methods. Scott, on
the other hand, lived in the greatest poetical ago since that of Elizabeth.
Poetry or the drama (in which, to be sure, few succeeded) occupied
Wordsworth, Byron, Coleridge, Shelley, Crabbe, Campbell, and Keats.
Then, as Joanna Baillie hyperbolically declared, "The Scotch novels
put poetry out of fashion."
[Abbotsford Manuscripts. Hogg averred that nobody either read or
wrote poetry after Sir Walter took to prose.]
Till they appeared, novels seem to have been left to readers like the
plaintive lady's-maid whom Scott met at Dalkeith, when he beheld "the
fair one descend from the carriage with three half-bound volumes of a
novel in her hand." Mr. Morritt, writing to Scott in March, 1815, hopes
he will "restore pure narrative to the dignity from which it gradually
slipped before it dwindled into a manufactory for the circulating
library." "Waverley," he asserted, "would prevail over people otherwise
averse to blue-backed volumes." Thus it was an unconsidered art which
Scott took up and revived. Half a century had passed since Fielding
gave us in "Tom Jones" his own and very different picture of life in the
"'forty-five,"--of life with all the romance of the "Race to Derby" cut
down to a sentence or two. Since the age of the great English novelists,
Richardson and Fielding and Miss Burney, the art of fiction had been
spasmodically alive in the hands of Mrs. Radcliffe, had been
sentimental with Henry Mackenzie, and now was all but moribund,
save for the humorous Irish sketches of Miss Edgeworth. As Scott
always insisted, it was mainly "the extended and well-merited fame of
Miss Edgeworth" which induced him to try his hand on a novel
containing pictures of Scottish life and character. Nothing was more
remarkable in his own novels than the blending of close and humorous
observation of common life with pleasure in adventurous narratives
about "what is not so, and was not so, and Heaven forbid that it ever
should be so," as the girl says in the nursery tale. Through his whole
life he remained the dreamer of dreams and teller of wild legends, who
had held the lads of the High School entranced round Luckie Brown's
fireside, and had fleeted the summer days in interchange of romances
with a schoolboy friend, Mr. Irving, among the hills that girdle
Edinburgh. He ever had a passion for "knights and ladies and dragons
and giants," and "God only knows," he says, "how delighted I was to
find myself in such society." But with all this delight, his imagination
had other pleasures than the fantastic: the humours and passions of
ordinary existence were as clearly visible to him as the battles, the
castles, and the giants. True, he was more fastidious in his choice of
novels of real life than in his romantic reading. "The whole Jemmy and
Jessamy tribe I abhorred," he said; "and it required the art of Burney or
the feeling of Mackenzie to fix my attention upon a domestic tale." But
when the domestic tale was good and true, no man appreciated it more
than he. None has more vigorously applauded Miss Austen than Scott,
and it was thus that as the "Author of 'Waverley'" he addressed Miss
Edgeworth, through James Ballantyne: "If I could but hit it, Miss
Edgeworth's wonderful power of vivifying all her persons, and making
there live as beings in your mind, I should not be afraid." "Often,"
Ballantyne goes on, "has the Author of 'Waverley' used such language
to me; and I knew that I gratified him most when I could say,
'Positively, this is equal to Miss Edgeworth.'"
Thus Scott's own taste was catholic: and in this he was particularly
unlike the modern novelists, who proclaim, from both sides of the
Atlantic, that only in their own methods, and in sharing their own
exclusive tastes, is literary salvation. The prince of Romance was no
one-sided romanticiste; his ear was open to all fiction good in its kind.
His generosity made him think Miss Edgeworth's persons more alive
than his own. To his own romances he preferred Mrs. Shelley's
"Frankenstein."
[Scott reviewed "Frankenstein" in 1818. Mr. Shelley had sent it with a
brief note, it, which he said that it was the work of a friend, and that he
had only seen it through the press. Sir Walter passed the hook on to Mr.
Murritt, who, in reply, gave Scott a brief and not very accurate history
of Shelley. Sir Walter then wrote a most favourable review of
"Frankenstein" in "Blackwood's Magazine," observing that it was
attributed to Mr. Percy Bysshe Shelley, a son-in-law of Mr. Godwin.
Mrs. Shelley presently wrote thanking him for the review, and assuring
him that it was her own work. Scott had apparently taken Sheller's
disclaimer as an innocent evasion; it was an age of literary
superscheries. --Abbotsford Manuscripts.]
As a critic, of course, he was mistaken; but his was the generous error
of the heart, and it is the heart in Walter Scott, even more than the brain,
that lends its own vitality to his creations. Equipped as he was with a
taste truly catholic, capable in old age of admiring "Pelham," he had the
power to do what he calls "the big bow-wow strain;" yet he was not, as
in his modesty he supposed, denied "the exquisite torch which renders
ordinary commonplace things and characters interesting, from the truth
of the description and the sentiment."
The letter of Rose Bradwardine to Waverley is alone enough to
disprove Scott's disparagement of himself, his belief that he had been
denied exquisiteness of touch. Nothing human is more delicate, nothing
should be more delicately handled, than the first love of a girl. What
the "analytical" modern novelist would pass over and dissect and place
beneath his microscope till a student of any manliness blushes with
shame and annoyance, Scott suffers Rose Bradwardine to reveal with a
sensitive shyness. But Scott, of course, had even less in common with
the peeper and botanizer on maidens' hearts than with the wildest
romanticist. He considered that "a want of story is always fatal to a
book the first reading, and it is well if it gets a chance of a second."
From him "Pride and Prejudice" got a chance of three readings at least.
This generous universality of taste, in addition to all his other qualities
of humour and poetry, enabled Scott to raise the novel from its
decadence, and to make the dry bones of history live again in his tales.
With Charles Edward at Holyrood, as Mr. Senior wrote in the
"Quarterly Review," "we are in the lofty region of romance. In any
other hands than those of Sir Walter Scott, the language and conduct of
those great people would have been as dignified as their situations. We
should have heard nothing of the hero in his new costume 'majoring
afore the muckle pier-glass,' of his arrest by the hint of the Candlestick,
of his examination by the well-powdered Major Melville, or of his fears
of being informed against by Mrs. Nosebag." In short, "while the
leading persons and events are as remote from ordinary life as the
inventions of Scudery, the picture of human nature is as faithful as
could have been given by Fielding or Le Sage." Though this criticism
has not the advantage of being new, it is true; and when we have added
that Scott's novels are the novels of the poet who, next to Shakspeare,
knew mankind most widely and well, we have the secret of his triumph.
For the first time in literature, it was a poet who held the pen of the
romancer in prose. Fielding, Richardson, De Foe, Miss Rurnev, were
none of them made by the gods poetical. Scott himself, with his
habitual generosity, would have hailed his own predecessor in Mrs.
Radcliffe. "The praise may be claimed for Mrs. Radcliffe of having
been the first to introduce into her prose fictions a beautiful and
fanciful tone of natural description and impressive narrative, which had
hitherto been exclusively applied to poetry. . . . Mrs. Radcliffe has a
title to be considered the first poetess of romantic fiction." When "Guy
Mannering" appeared, Wordsworth sneered at it as a work of the
Radcliffe school. The slight difference produced by the introduction of
humour could scarcely be visible to Wordsworth. But Scott would not
have been hurt by his judgment. He had the literary courage to
recognize merit even when obscured by extravagance, and to applaud
that in which people of culture could find neither excellence nor charm.
Like Thackeray, he had been thrilled by Vivaidi in the Inquisition, and
he was not the man to hide his gratitude because his author was now
out of fashion.
Thus we see that Scott, when he began "Waverley" in 1805, brought to
his labour no hard-and-fast theory of the art of fiction, but a kindly
readiness to be pleased, and to find good in everything. He brought his
wide knowledge of contemporary Scottish life "from the peer to the
ploughman;" he brought his well-digested wealth of antiquarian lore,
and the poetic skill which had just been busied with the "Lay of the
Last Minstrel," and was still to be occupied, ere he finished his
interrupted novel, with "Marmion," "The Lady of the Lake," "Rokeby,"
and "The Lord of the Isles." The comparative failure of the last-named
no doubt strengthened his determination to try prose romance. He had
never cared mach for his own poems, he says, Byron had outdone him
in popularity, and the Muse--"the Good Demon" who once deserted
Herrick--came now less eagerly to his call. It is curiously difficult to
disentangle the statements about the composition of "Waverley." Our
first authority, of course, is Scott's own account, given in the General
Preface to the Edition of 1829. Lockhart, however, remarks on the
haste with which Sir Walter wrote the Introductions to the magnum
opus; and the lapse of fifteen years, the effects of disease, and his
habitual carelessness about his own works and mode of working may
certainly to some extent have clouded his memory. "About the year
1805," as he says, he "threw together about one third part of the first
volume of 'Waverley.'" It was advertised to be published, he goes on,
by Ballantvne, with the second title, "'T is Fifty Years since." This,
obviously, would have made 1755 the date of the events, just as the
title "'T is Sixty Years since" in 1814 brought the date of the events to
1754. By inspecting the water-mark of the paper Lockhart discovered
that 1805 was the period in which the first few chapters were composed;
the rest of the paper was marked 1814. Scott next observes that the
unfavourable opinion of a critical friend on the first seven chapters
induced him to lay the manuscript aside. Who was this friend?
Lockhart thinks it was Erskine. It is certain, from a letter of
Ballantyne's at Abbotsford,--a letter printed by Lockhart, September 15,
1810,--that Ballantyne in 1810 saw at least the earlier portions of
"Waverley," and it is clear enough that he had seen none of it before. If
any friend did read it in 1805, it cannot have been Ballantyne, and may
have been Erskine. But none of the paper bears a water-mark, between
1805 and 1813, so Scott must merely have taken it up, in 1810, as it
had been for five years. Now Scott says that the success of "The Lady
of the Lake," with its Highland pictures, induced him "to attempt
something of the same sort in prose." This, as Lockhart notes, cannot
refer to 1805, as the "Lady of the Lake" did not appear till 1810. But
the good fortune of the "Lady" may very well have induced him in
1810 to reconsider his Highland prose romance. In 1808, as appears
from an undated letter to Surtees of Mainsforth (Abbotsford
Manuscripts), he was contemplating a poem on "that wandering knight
so fair," Charles Edward, and on the adventures of his flight, on
Lochiel, Flora Macdonald, the Kennedys, and the rest. Earlier still, on
June 9, 1806, Scott wrote to Lady Abercorn that he had "a great work
in contemplation, a Highland romance of love, magic, and war." "The
Lady of the Lake" took the place of that poem in his "century of
inventions," and, stimulated by the popularity of his Highland romance
in verse, he disinterred the last seven chapters of "Waverley" from their
five years of repose. Very probably, as he himself hints, the exercise of
fitting a conclusion to Strutt's "Queenloo Hall" may have helped to
bring his fancy back to his own half-forgotten story of "Waverley." In
1811 Scott went to Abbotsford, and there, as he tells us, he lost sight of
his "Waverley" fragment. Often looked for, it was never found, till the
accident of a search for fishing-tackle led him to discover it in the
drawer of an old bureau in a lumber-garret. This cabinet afterwards
came into the possession of Mr. William Laidlaw, Scott's friend and
amanuensis, and it is still, the Editor understands, in the hands of Miss
Laidlaw. The fishing-tackle, Miss Laidlaw tells the Editor (mainly red
hackles, tied on hair, not gut), still occupies the drawer, except a few
flies which were given, as relics, to the late Mr. Thomas Tod Stoddart.
In 1813, then, volume i. of "Waverley" was finished. Then Scott
undertook some articles for Constable, and laid the novel aside. The
printing, at last, must have been very speedy. Dining in Edinburgh, in
June, 1814, Lockhart saw "the hand of Walter Scott" busy at its task.
"Page after page is finished, and thrown on the heap of manuscripts,
and still it goes on unwearied." The book was published on July 7, the
press hardly keeping up with the activity of the author. Scott had
written "two volumes in three summer weeks" and the printers had not
shown less activity, while binders and stitchers must have worked extra
tides.
"Waverley" was published without the Author's name. Scott's reasons
for being anonymous have been stated by himself. "It was his
humour,"--that is the best of the reasons and the secret gave him a great
deal of amusement. The Ballantynes, of course, knew it from the first;
so did Mr. Morritt, Lady Louisa Stuart, and Lord and Lady Montague,
and others were gradually admitted. In an undated letter, probably of
November, 1816, Scott says to the Marchioness of Abercorn, a most
intimate friend: "I cannot even conjecture whom you mean by Mr.
Mackenzie as author of 'The Antiquary.' I should think my excellent old
friend Mr. Harry Mackenzie [author of the 'Man of Feeling,' etc.] was
too much advanced in years and plugged in business to amuse himself
by writing novels; and besides, the style in no degree resembles his."
(Lady Abercorn meant 'Young Harry Mackenzie,' not the patriarch.) "I
am told one of the English reviews gives these works by name and
upon alleged authority to George Forbes, Sir William's brother; so they
take them off my hands, I don't care who they turn to, for I am really
tired of an imputation which I am under the necessity of confuting at
every corner. Tom will soon be home from Canada, as the death of my
elder brother has left him a little money. He may answer for himself,
but I hardly suspect him, unless much changed, to be Possessed of the
perseverance necessary to write nine volumes." Scott elsewhere rather
encouraged the notion that his brother Thomas was the author, and tried
to make him exert himself and enter the field as a rival. Gossip also
assigned the "Scotch novels" to Jeffrey, to Mrs. Thomas Scott, aided by
her husband and Sir Walter, to a Dr. Greenfield, a clergyman, and to
many others. Sir Walter humorously suggested George Cranstoun as
the real offender. After the secret was publicly confessed, Lady Louisa
Stuart reminded Scott of all the amusement it had given them. "Old
Mortality" had been pronounced "too good" for Scott, and free from his
"wearisome descriptions of scenery." Clever people had detected
several separate hands in "Old Mortality," as in the Iliad. All this was
diverting. Moreover, Scott was in some degree protected from the bores
who pester a successful author. He could deny the facts very stoutly,
though always, as he insists, With the reservation implied in alleging
that, if he had been the author, he would still have declined to confess.
In the notes to later novels we shall see some of his "great denials."
The reception of "Waverley" was enthusiastic. Large editions were sold
in Edinburgh, and when Scott returned from his cruise in the northern
islands he found society ringing with his unacknowledged triumph.
Byron, especially, proclaimed his pleasure in "Waverley." It may be
curious to recall some of the published reviews of the moment.
Probably no author ever lived so indifferent to published criticism as
Scott. Miss Edgeworth, in one of her letters, reminds him how they had
both agreed that writers who cared for the dignity and serenity of their
characters should abstain from "that authors' bane-stuff." "As to the
herd of critics," Scott wrote to Miss Seward, after publishing "The
Lay," "many of those gentlemen appear to me to be a set of tinkers,
who, unable to make pots and pans, set up for menders of them." It is
probable, therefore, that he was quite unconcerned about the few
remarks which Mr. Gifford, in the "Quarterly Review" (vol. xl., 1814),
interspersed among a multitude of extracts, in a notice of "Waverley"
manufactured with scissors and paste. The "Quarterly" recognized "a
Scotch Castle Rackrent," but in "a much higher strain." The tale was
admitted to possess all the accuracy of history, and all the vivacity of
romance. Scott's second novel, "Guy Mannering," was attacked with
some viciousness in the periodical of which he was practically the
founder, and already the critic was anxious to repeat what Scott, talking
of Pope's censors, calls "the cuckoo cry of written out'!" The notice of
"Waverley" in the "Edinburgh Review" by Mr. Jeffrey was not so slight
and so unworthy of the topic. The novel was declared, and not unjustly,
to be "very hastily, and in many places very unskilfully, written." The
Scotch was decried as "unintelligible" dialect by the very reviewer who
had accused "Marmion" of not being Scotch enough. But the
"Edinburgh" applauded "the extraordinary fidelity and felicity" with
which all the inferior agents in the story are represented. "Fastidious
readers" might find Callum Beg and Mrs. Nosebag and the Cumberland
peasants "coarse and disgusting," said the reviewer, who must have had
in his imagination readers extremely superfine. He objected to the
earlier chapters as uninteresting, and--with justice--to the passages
where the author speaks in "the smart and flippant style of modern
makers of paragraphs." "These form a strange and humiliating contrast
with the force and freedom of his manner when engaged in those
dramatic and picturesque representations to which his genius so
decidedly inclines." He spoke severely of the places where Scott
explains the circumstances of Waverley's adventures before he reaches
Edinburgh; and Scott himself, in his essay on Mrs. Radcliffe, regrets
that explanatory chapters had ever been invented. The reviewer broadly
hints his belief that Scott is the author; and on the whole, except for a
cautious lack of enthusiasm, the notice is fair and kindly. The "Monthly
Review" differed not much from the Blue and Yellow (the "Edinburgh
Review").
"It is not one of the least merits of this very uncommon production that
all the subordinate characters are touched with the same discriminating
force which so strongly marks their principals; and that in this manner
almost every variety of station and interest, such as existed at the
period under review, is successively brought before the mind of the
reader in colours vivid as the original.
"A few oversights, we think, we have detected in the conduct of the
story which ought not to remain unnoticed. For example, the age of
Stanley and Lady Emily does not seem well to accord with the
circumstances of their union, as related in the commencement of the
work; and we are not quite satisfied that Edward should have been so
easily reconciled to the barbarous and stubborn prejudices which
precluded even the office of intercession for his gallant friend and
companion-in-arms.
"The pieces of poetry which are not very profusely scattered through
these volumes can scarcely fail to be ascribed to Mr. Scott, whatever
may be judged of the body of the work. In point of comparative merit,
we should class them neither with the highest nor with the meanest
effusions of his lyric minstrelsy."
Lord Byron's "Grandmother's Review, the British," was also friendly
and sagacious, in its elderly way.
"We request permission, therefore, to introduce 'Waverley,' a
publication which has already excited considerable interest in the sister
kingdom, to the literary world on this side the Tweed.
"A very short time has elapsed since this publication made its
appearance in Edinburgh, and though it came into the world in the
modest garb of anonymous obscurity, the Northern literati are
unanimous, we understand, in ascribing part of it, at, least, to the pen of
W. Scott.
"We are unwilling to consider this publication in the light of a common
novel whose fate it is to be devoured with rapidity for a day, and
afterwards forgotten forever, but as a vehicle of curious and accurate
information upon a subject which must at all times demand our
attention,--the history and manners of a very large and renowned
portion of the inhabitants of these islands. We would recommend this
tale as faithfully embodying the lives, the manners, and the opinions of
this departed race, and as affording those features of ancient days
which no man probably, besides its author, has had the means to collect,
the desire to preserve, or the power to portray.
"Although there are characters sufficient to awaken the attention and to
diversify the scenes, yet they are not in sufficient number to perplex the
memory or to confuse the incidents. Their spirit is well kept up till the
very last, and they relieve one another with so much art that the reader
will not find himself wearied even with the pedantic jargon of the old
Baron of Bradwardine.
"Of Waverley himself we shall say but little, as his character is far too
common to need a comment; we can only say that his wanderings are
not gratuitous, nor is he wavering and indecisive only because the
author chooses to make him so. Every feature in his character is formed
by education, and it is to this first source that we are constantly referred
for a just and sufficient cause of all the wandering passions as they
arise in his mind.
"The secondary personages are drawn with much spirit and fidelity, and
with a very striking knowledge of the peculiarities of the Scotch temper
and disposition. The incidents are all founded on fact, and the historical
parts are related with much accuracy. The livelier scenes which are
displayed are of the most amusing species, because they flow so
naturally from the personages before us that the characters, not the
author, appear to speak. A strong vein of very original humour marks
the whole: in most instances it is indeed of a local and particular nature,
but in many cases it assumes a more general appearance.
"Of the more serious portions we can speak with unqualified
approbation; the very few pathetic scenes which occur are short,
dignifed, and affecting. The love-scenes are sufficiently contracted to
produce that very uncommon sensation in the mind,--a wish that they
were longer.
"The religious opinions expressed in the course of the tale are few, but
of those few we fully approve.
"The humorous and happy adaptation of legal terns shows no moderate
acquaintance with the arcana of the law, and a perpetual allusion to the
English and Latin classics no common share of scholarship and taste."
The "Scots Magazine" illustrated the admirable unanimity of reviewers
when they are unanimous. The "Anti-Jacobin" objected that no
Chateau-Margaux sent in the wood from Bordeaux to Dundee in 1713
could have been drinkable in 1741. "Claret two-and-thirty years old! It
almost gives us the gripes to think of it." Indeed, Sir Walter, as
Lochhart assures us, was so far from being a judge of claret that he
could not tell when it was "corked." One or two points equally
important amused the reviewer, who, like most of his class, detected
the hand of Scott. There was hardly a possibility, as Mr. Morritt told Sir
Walter, "that the poems in "Waverley" could fail to suggest their author.
No man who ever heard you tell a story over a table but must recognize
you at once." To his praise of "Waverley" Mr. Morritt hardly added any
adverse criticism, beyond doubting the merit of the early chapters, and
denouncing the word "sombre" as one which had lately "kept bad
company among the slipshod English of the sentimental school." Scott,
in defence, informed Mr. Morritt that he had "left the story to flag in
the first volume on purpose. . . . I wished (with what success Heaven
knows) to avoid the ordinary error of novelists, whose first volume is
usually their best."
It must be admitted that if Scott wished to make "Waverley" "flag" in
the beginning, he succeeded extremely well,--too well for many
modern readers, accustomed to a leap into the midst of the story.
"These introductory chapters," he observes in a note on the fifth of
them, "have been a good deal censured as tedious and unnecessary; yet
there are circumstances recorded in them which the Author has not
been able to persuade himself to retract or cancel." These
"circumstances" are probably the studies of Waverley, his romantic
readings, which are really autobiographic. Scott was, apparently,
seriously of opinion that the "mental discipline" of a proper classical
education would have been better for himself than his own delightfully
desultory studies. Ballantyne could not see what Waverley's reading
had to do with his adventures and character. Scott persisted in being of
another mind. He himself, writing to Morritt, calls his hero "a sneaking
piece of imbecility;" but he probably started with loftier intentions of
"psychological analysis" than he fulfilled. He knew, and often said, in
private letters, as in published works, that he was no hand at a
respectable hero. Borderers, buccaneers, robber, and humorsome
people, like Dugald Dalgetty and Bailie Nicol Jarvie and Macwheeble,
whom he said he preferred to any person in "Waverley," were the
characters he delighted in. We may readily believe that Shakspeare too
preferred Jacques and the Fat Knight to Orlando or the favoured lover
of Anne Page. Your hero is a difficult person to make human,--unless,
indeed, he has the defects of Pendennis or Tom Jones. But it is likely
enough that the Waverley whom Scott had in his mind in 1805 was
hardly the Waverley of 1813. His early English chapters are much in
the ordinary vein of novels as they were then written; in those chapters
come the "asides" by the author which the "Edinburgh Review"
condemned. But there remains the kindly, honourable Sir Everard,
while the calm atmosphere of English meadows, and the plump charms
of Miss Cecilia Stubbs, are intended as foils to the hills of the North,
the shy refinement of Rose, and the heroic heart of Flora Mac-Ivor.
Scott wished to show the remote extremes of civilization and mental
habit co-existing in the same island of Scotland and England. Yet we
regret such passages as "craving pardon for my heroics, which I am
unable in certain cases to resist giving way to," and so forth. Scott was
no Thackeray, no Fielding, and failed (chiefly in "Waverley") when he
attempted the mood of banter, which one of his daughters, a lady "of
Beatrice's mind," "never got from me," he observes.
In any serious, attempt to criticise "Waverley" as a whole, it is not easy
to say whether we should try to put ourselves at the point of view of its
first readers, or whether we should look at it from the vantage-ground
of to-day. In 1811 the dead world of clannish localty was fresh in many
memories. Scott's own usher had often spoken with a person who had
seen Cromwell enter Edinburgh after Dunbar. He himself knew heroes
of the Forty-five, and his friend Lady Louisa Stuart had been well
acquainted with Miss Walkinshaw, sister of the mistress of Charles
Edward. To his generation those things were personal memories, which
to us seem as distant as the reign of Men-Ka-Ra. They could not but be
"carried off their feet" by such pictures of a past still so near them. Nor
had they other great novelists to weaken the force of Scott's
impressions. They had not to compare him with the melancholy mirth
of Thackeray, and the charm, the magic of his style. Balzac was of the
future; of the future was the Scott of France,--the boyish, the witty, the
rapid, the brilliant, the inexhaustible Dumas. Scott's generation had no
scruples abort "realism," listened to no sermons on the glory of the
commonplace; like Dr. Johnson, they admired a book which "was
amusing as a fairy-tale." But we are overwhelmed with a wealth of
comparisons, and deafened by a multitude of homilies on fiction, and
distracted, like the people in the Erybyggja Saga, by the strange rising
and setting, and the wild orbits of new "weirdmoons" of romance.
Before we can make up our minds on Scott, we have to remember, or
forget, the scornful patronage of one critic, the over-subtlety and
exaggerations of another, the more than papal infallibility of a third.
Perhaps the best critic would be an intelligent school-boy, with a
generous heart and an unspoiled imagination. As his remarks are not
accessible, as we must try to judge "Waverley" like readers inured to
much fiction and much criticism, we must confess, no doubt, that the
commencement has the faults which the first reviewers detected, and it
which Scott acknowledged. He is decidedly slow in getting to business,
as they say; he began with more of conscious ethical purpose than he
went on, and his banter is poor. But when once we enter the village of
Tully-Veolan, the Magician finds his wand. Each picture of place or
person tells,--the old butler, the daft Davie Gellatley, the solemn and
chivalrous Baron, the pretty natural girl, the various lairds, the factor
Macwheeble,--all at once become living people, and friends whom we
can never lose. The creative fire of Shakspeare lives again. The
Highlanders--Evan Dhu, Donald Bean Lean, his charming daughter,
Callum Beg, and all the rest--are as natural as the Lowlanders. In
Fergus and Flora we feel, indeed, at first, that the author has left his
experience behind, and is giving us creatures of fancy. But they too
become human and natural,--Fergus in his moods of anger, ambition,
and final courageous resignation; Flora, in her grief. As for Waverley,
his creator was no doubt too hard on him. Among the brave we hear
that he was one of the bravest, though Scott always wrote his
battlepieces in a manner to suggest no discomfort, and does not give us
particular details of Waverley's prowess. He has spirit enough, this
"sneaking piece of imbecility," as he shows in his quarrel with Fergus,
on the march to Derby. Waverley, that creature of romance, considered
as a lover, is really not romantic enough. He loved Rose because she
loved him,--which is confessed to be unheroic behaviour. Scott, in
"Waverley," certainly does not linger over love-scenes. With Mr.
Ruskin, we may say: "Let it not be thought for an instant that the slight
and sometimes scornful glance with which Scott passes over scenes,
which a novelist of our own day would have analyzed with the airs of a
philosopher, and painted with the curiosity of a gossip, indicates any
absence in his heart of sympathy with the great and sacred elements of
personal happiness." But his mind entertained other themes of interest,
"loyalty, patriotism, piety." On the other hand, it is necessary to differ
from Mr. Ruskin when he says that Scott "never knew 'l'amor che move
'l sol e l' altre stelle.'" He whose heart was "broken for two years," and
retained the crack till his dying day, he who, when old and tired, and
near his death, was yet moved by the memory of the name which thirty
years before he had cut in Runic characters on the turf at the
Castle-gate of St. Andrew, knew love too well to write of it much, or to
speak of it at all. He had won his ideal as alone the ideal can be won; he
never lost her: she was with him always, because she had been
unattainable. "There are few," he says, "who have not, at one period of
life, broken ties of love and friendship, secret disappointments of the
heart, to mourn over,--and we know no book which recalls the memory
of them more severely than 'Julia de Roubigne.'" He could not be very
eager to recall them, he who had so bitterly endured them, and because
he had known and always knew "l'amor che move 'l sol e l'altre stelle,"
a seal was on his lips, a silence broken only by a caress of Di Vernon's.'
This apology we may make, if an apology be needed, for what modern
readers may think the meagreness of the love-passages in Scott. He
does not deal in embraces and effusions, his taste is too manly; he does
not dwell much on Love, because, like the shepherd in Theocritus, he
has found him an inhabitant of the rocks. Moreover, when Scott began
novel-writing, he was as old as Thackeray when Thackeray said that
while at work on a love-scene he blushed so that you would think he
was going into an apoplexy. "Waverley" stands by its pictures of
manners, of character, by its humour and its tenderness, by its manly
"criticism of life," by its touches of poetry, so various, so inspired, as in
Davie Gellatley with his songs, and Charles Edward in the gallant hour
of Holyrood, and Flora with her high, selfless hopes and broken heart,
and the beloved Baron, bearing his lot "with a good-humoured though
serious composure." "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."
"Waverley" ends like a fairy-tale, while real life ever ends like a
Northern saga. But among the good things that make life bearable, such
fairy-tales are not the least precious, and not the least enduring.
INTRODUCTION
The plan of this edition leads me to insert in this place some account of
the incidents on which the Novel of Waverley is founded. They have
been already given to the public by my late lamented friend, William
Erskine, Esq. (afterwards Lord Kinneder), when reviewing the Tales of
My Landlord for the Quarterly Review in 1817. The particulars were
derived by the critic from the Author's information. Afterwards they
were published in the Preface to the Chronicles of the Canongate. They
are now inserted in their proper place.
The mutual protection afforded by Waverley and Talbot to each other,
upon which the whole plot depends, is founded upon one of those
anecdotes which soften the features even of civil war; and, as it is
equally honourable to the memory of both parties, we have no
hesitation to give their names at length. When the Highlanders, on the
morning of the battle of Preston, 1745, made their memorable attack on
Sir John Cope's army, a battery of four field-pieces was stormed and
carried by the Camerons and the Stewarts of Appine. The late
Alexander Stewart of Invernahylewas one of the foremost in the charge,
and observing an officer of the King's forces, who, scorning to join the
flight of all around, remained with his sword in his hand, as if
determined to the very last to defend the post assigned to him, the
Highland gentleman commanded him to surrender, and received for
reply a thrust, which he caught in his target. The officer was now
defenceless, and the battle-axe of a gigantic Highlander (the miller of
Invernahyle's mill) was uplifted to dash his brains out, when Mr.
Stewart with difficulty prevailed on him to yield. He took charge of his
enemy's property, protected his person, and finally obtained him liberty
on his parole. The officer proved to be Colonel Whitefoord, an
Ayrshire gentleman of high character and influence, and warmly
attached to the House of Hanover; yet such was the confidence existing
between these two honourable men, though of different political
principles, that, while the civil war was raging, and straggling officers
from the Highland army were executed without mercy, Invernahyle
hesitated not to pay his late captive a visit, as he returned to the
Highlands to raise fresh recruits, on which occasion he spent a day or
two in Ayrshire among Colonel Whitefoord's Whig friends, as
pleasantly and as good-humouredly as if all had been at peace around
him.
After the battle of Culloden had ruined the hopes of Charles Edward
and dispersed his proscribed adherents, it was Colonel Whitefoord's
turn to strain every nerve to obtain Mr. Stewart's pardon. He went to
the Lord Justice Clerk to the Lord Advocate, and to all the officers of
state, and each application was answered by the production of a list in
which Invernahyle (as the good old gentleman was wont to express it)
appeared 'marked with the sign of the beast!' as a subject unfit for
favour or pardon.
At length Colonel Whitefoord applied to the Duke of Cumberland in
person. From him, also, he received a positive refusal. He then limited
his request, for the present, to a protection for Stewart's house, wife,
children, and property. This was also refused by the Duke; on which
Colonel Whitefoord, taking his commission from his bosom, laid it on
the table before his Royal Highness with much emotion, and asked
permission to retire from the service of a sovereign who did not know
how to spare a vanquished enemy. The Duke was struck, and even
affected. He bade the Colonel take up his commission, and granted the
protection he required. It was issued just in time to save the house, corn,
and cattle at Invernahyle from the troops, who were engaged in laying
waste what it was the fashion to call 'the country of the enemy.' A small
encampment of soldiers was formed on Invernahyle's property, which
they spared while plundering the country around, and searching in
every direction for the leaders of the insurrection, and for Stewart in
particular. He was much nearer them than they suspected; for, hidden in
a cave (like the Baron of Bradwardine), he lay for many days so near
the English sentinels that he could hear their muster-roll called. His
food was brought to him by one of his daughters, a child of eight years
old, whom Mrs. Stewart was under the necessity of entrusting with this
commission; for her own motions, and those of all her elder inmates,
were closely watched. With ingenuity beyond her years, the child used
to stray about among the soldiers, who were rather kind to her, and thus
seize the moment when she was unobserved and steal into the thicket,
when she deposited whatever small store of provisions she had in
charge at some marked spot, where her father might find it. Invernahyle
supported life for several weeks by means of these precarious supplies;
and, as he had been wounded in the battle of Culloden, the hardships
which he endured were aggravated by great bodily pain. After the
soldiers had removed their quarters he had another remarkable escape.
As he now ventured to his own house at night and left it in the morning,
he was espied during the dawn by a party of the enemy, who fired at
and pursued him. The fugitive being fortunate enough to escape their
search, they returned to the house and charged the family with
harbouring one of the proscribed traitors. An old woman had presence
of mind enough to maintain that the man they had seen was the
shepherd. 'Why did he not stop when we called to him?' said the soldier.
'He is as deaf, poor man, as a peat-stack,' answered the ready-witted
domestic. 'Let him be sent for directly.' The real shepherd accordingly
was brought from the hill, and, as there was time to tutor him by the
way, he was as deaf when he made his appearance as was necessary to
sustain his character. Invernahyle was afterwards pardoned under the
Act of Indemnity.
The Author knew him well, and has often heard these circumstances
from his own mouth. He was a noble specimen of the old Highlander,
far descended, gallant, courteous, and brave, even to chivalry. He had
been out, I believe, in 1715 and 1745, was an active partaker in all the
stirring scenes which passed in the Highlands betwixt these memorable
eras; and, I have heard, was remarkable, among other exploits, for
having fought a duel with the broadsword with the celebrated Rob Roy
MacGregor at the clachan of Balquidder.
Invernahyle chanced to be in Edinburgh when Paul Jones came into the
Firth of Forth, and though then an old man, I saw him in arms, and
heard him exult (to use his own words) in the prospect of drawing his
claymore once more before he died.' In fact, on that memorable
occasion, when the capital of Scotland was menaced by three trifling
sloops or brigs, scarce fit to have sacked a fishing village, he was the
only man who seemed to propose a plan of resistance. He offered to the
magistrates, if broadswords and dirks could be obtained, to find as
many Highlanders among the lower classes as would cut off any boat's
crew who might be sent into a town full of narrow and winding
passages, in which they were like to disperse in quest of plunder. I
know not if his plan was attended to, I rather think it seemed too
hazardous to the constituted authorities, who might not, even at that
time, desire to see arms in Highland hands. A steady and powerful west
wind settled the matter by sweeping Paul Jones and his vessels out of
the Firth.
If there is something degrading in this recollection, it is not unpleasant
to compare it with those of the last war, when Edinburgh, besides
regular forces and militia, furnished a volunteer brigade of cavalry,
infantry, and artillery to the amount of six thousand men and upwards,
which was in readiness to meet and repel a force of a far more
formidable description than was commanded by the adventurous
American. Time and circumstances change the character of nations and
the fate of cities; and it is some pride to a Scotchman to reflect that the
independent and manly character of a country, willing to entrust its
own protection to the arms of its children, after having been obscured
for half a century, has, during the course of his own lifetime, recovered
its lustre.
Other illustrations of Waverley will be found in the Notes at the foot of
the pages to which they belong. Those which appeared too long to be
so placed are given at the end of the chapters to which they severally
relate. [Footnote: In this edition at the end of the several volumes.]
PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION
To this slight attempt at a sketch of ancient Scottish manners the public
have been more favourable than the Author durst have hoped or
expected. He has heard, with a mixture of satisfaction and humility, his
work ascribed to more than one respectable name. Considerations,
which seem weighty in his particular situation, prevent his releasing
those gentlemen from suspicion by placing his own name in the
title-page; so that, for the present at least, it must remain uncertain
whether Waverley be the work of a poet or a critic, a lawyer or a
clergyman, or whether the writer, to use Mrs. Malaprop's phrase, be,
'like Cerberus, three gentlemen at once.' The Author, as he is
unconscious of anything in the work itself (except perhaps its frivolity)
which prevents its finding an acknowledged father, leaves it to the
candour of the public to choose among the many circumstances
peculiar to different situations in life such as may induce him to
suppress his name on the present occasion. He may be a writer new to
publication, and unwilling to avow a character to which he is
unaccustomed; or he may be a hackneyed author, who is ashamed of
too frequent appearance, and employs this mystery, as the heroine of
the old comedy used her mask, to attract the attention of those to whom
her face had become too familiar. He may be a man of a grave
profession, to whom the reputation of being a novel-writer might be
prejudicial; or he may be a man of fashion, to whom writing of any
kind might appear pedantic. He may be too young to assume the
character of an author, or so old as to make it advisable to lay it aside.
The Author of Waverley has heard it objected to this novel, that, in the
character of Callum Beg and in the account given by the Baron of
Bradwardine of the petty trespasses of the Highlanders upon trifling
articles of property, he has borne hard, and unjustly so, upon their
national character. Nothing could be farther from his wish or intention.
The character of Callum Beg is that of a spirit naturally turned to
daring evil, and determined, by the circumstances of his situation, to a
particular species of mischief. Those who have perused the curious
Letters from the Highlands, published about 1726, will find instances
of such atrocious characters which fell under the writer's own
observation, though it would be most unjust to consider such villains as
representatives of the Highlanders of that period, any more than the
murderers of Marr and Williamson can be supposed to represent the
English of the present day. As for the plunder supposed to have been
picked up by some of the insurgents in 1745, it must be remembered
that, although the way of that unfortunate little army was neither
marked by devastation nor bloodshed, but, on the contrary, was orderly
and quiet in a most wonderful degree, yet no army marches through a
country in a hostile manner without committing some depredations;
and several, to the extent and of the nature jocularly imputed to them
by the Baron, were really laid to the charge of the Highland insurgents;
for which many traditions, and particularly one respecting the Knight
of the Mirror, may be quoted as good evidence. [Footnote: A homely
metrical narrative of the events of the period, which contains some
striking particulars, and is still a great favourite with the lower classes,
gives a very correct statement of the behaviour of the mountaineers
respecting this same military license; and, as the verses are little known,
and contain some good sense, we venture to insert them.]
THE AUTHOR'S ADDRESS TO ALL IN GENERAL
Now, gentle readers, I have let you ken My very thoughts, from heart
and pen, 'Tis needless for to conten' Or yet controule, For there's not a
word o't I can men'; So ye must thole.
For on both sides some were not good; I saw them murd'ring in cold
blood, Not the gentlemen, but wild and rude, The baser sort, Who to
the wounded had no mood But murd'ring sport!
Ev'n both at Preston and Falkirk, That fatal night ere it grew mirk,
Piercing the wounded with their durk, Caused many cry! Such pity's
shown from Savage and Turk As peace to die.
A woe be to such hot zeal, To smite the wounded on the fiell! It's just
they got such groats in kail, Who do the same. It only teaches crueltys
real To them again.
I've seen the men call'd Highland rogues, With Lowland men make
shangs a brogs, Sup kail and brose, and fling the cogs Out at the door,
Take cocks, hens, sheep, and hogs, And pay nought for.
I saw a Highlander,'t was right drole, With a string of puddings hung on
a pole, Whip'd o'er his shoulder, skipped like a fole, Caus'd Maggy
bann, Lap o'er the midden and midden-hole, And aff he ran.
When check'd for this, they'd often tell ye, 'Indeed her nainsell's a tume
belly; You'll no gie't wanting bought, nor sell me; Hersell will hae't; Go
tell King Shorge, and Shordy's Willie, I'll hae a meat.'
I saw the soldiers at Linton-brig, Because the man was not a Whig, Of
meat and drink leave not a skig, Within his door; They burnt his very
hat and wig, And thump'd him sore.
And through the Highlands they were so rude, As leave them neither
clothes nor food, Then burnt their houses to conclude; 'T was tit for tat.
How can her nainsell e'er be good, To think on that?
And after all, O, shame and grief! To use some worse than murd'ring
thief, Their very gentleman and chief, Unhumanly! Like Popish
tortures, I believe, Such cruelty.
Ev'n what was act on open stage At Carlisle, in the hottest rage, When
mercy was clapt in a cage, And pity dead, Such cruelty approv'd by
every age, I shook my head.
So many to curse, so few to pray, And some aloud huzza did cry; They
cursed the rebel Scots that day, As they'd been nowt Brought up for
slaughter, as that way Too many rowt.
Therefore, alas! dear countrymen, O never do the like again, To thirst
for vengeance, never ben' Your gun nor pa', But with the English e'en
borrow and len', Let anger fa'.
Their boasts and bullying, not worth a louse, As our King's the best
about the house. 'T is ay good to be sober and douce, To live in peace;
For many, I see, for being o'er crouse, Gets broken face.
WAVERLEY
OR
'TIS SIXTY YEARS SINCE
Volume I.
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
The title of this work has not been chosen without the grave and solid
deliberation which matters of importance demand from the prudent.
Even its first, or general denomination, was the result of no common
research or selection, although, according to the example of my
predecessors, I had only to seize upon the most sounding and euphonic
surname that English history or topography affords, and elect it at once
as the title of my work and the name of my hero. But, alas! what could
my readers have expected from the chivalrous epithets of Howard,
Mordaunt, Mortimer, or Stanley, or from the softer and more
sentimental sounds of Belmour, Belville, Belfield, and Belgrave, but
pages of inanity, similar to those which have been so christened for half
a century past? I must modestly admit I am too diffident of my own
merit to place it in unnecessary opposition to preconceived associations;
I have, therefore, like a maiden knight with his white shield, assumed
for my hero, WAVERLEY, an uncontaminated name, bearing with its
sound little of good or evil, excepting what the reader shall hereafter be
pleased to affix to it. But my second or supplemental title was a matter
of much more difficult election, since that, short as it is, may be held as
pledging the author to some special mode of laying his scene, drawing
his characters, and managing his adventures. Had I, for example,
announced in my frontispiece, 'Waverley, a Tale of other Days,' must
not every novel-reader have anticipated a castle scarce less than that of
Udolpho, of which the eastern wing had long been uninhabited, and the
keys either lost, or consigned to the care of some aged butler or
housekeeper, whose trembling steps, about the middle of the second
volume, were doomed to guide the hero, or heroine, to the ruinous
precincts? Would not the owl have shrieked and the cricket cried in my
very title-page? and could it have been possible for me, with a
moderate attention to decorum, to introduce any scene more lively than
might be produced by the jocularity of a clownish but faithful valet, or
the garrulous narrative of the heroine's fille-de-chambre, when
rehearsing the stories of blood and horror which she had heard in the
servants' hall? Again, had my title borne, 'Waverley, a Romance from
the German,' what head so obtuse as not to image forth a profligate
abbot, an oppressive duke, a secret and mysterious association of
Rosycrucians and Illuminati, with all their properties of black cowls,
caverns, daggers, electrical machines, trap-doors, and dark-lanterns? Or
if I had rather chosen to call my work a 'Sentimental Tale,' would it not
have been a sufficient presage of a heroine with a profusion of auburn
hair, and a harp, the soft solace of her solitary hours, which she
fortunately finds always the means of transporting from castle to
cottage, although she herself be sometimes obliged to jump out of a
two-pair-of-stairs window, and is more than once bewildered on her
journey, alone and on foot, without any guide but a blowzy peasant girl,
whose jargon she hardly can understand? Or, again, if my Waverley
had been entitled 'A Tale of the Times,' wouldst thou not, gentle reader,
have demanded from me a dashing sketch of the fashionable world, a
few anecdotes of private scandal thinly veiled, and if lusciously painted,
so much the better? a heroine from Grosvenor Square, and a hero from
the Barouche Club or the Four-in-Hand, with a set of subordinate
characters from the elegantes of Queen Anne Street East, or the dashing
heroes of the Bow-Street Office? I could proceed in proving the
importance of a title-page, and displaying at the same time my own
intimate knowledge of the particular ingredients necessary to the
composition of romances and novels of various descriptions;--but it is
enough, and I scorn to tyrannise longer over the impatience of my
reader, who is doubtless already anxious to know the choice made by
an author so profoundly versed in the different branches of his art.
By fixing, then, the date of my story Sixty Years before this present 1st
November, 1805, I would have my readers understand, that they will
meet in the following pages neither a romance of chivalry nor a tale of
modern manners; that my hero will neither have iron on his shoulders,
as of yore, nor on the heels of his boots, as is the present fashion of
Bond Street; and that my damsels will neither be clothed 'in purple and
in pall,' like the Lady Alice of an old ballad, nor reduced to the
primitive nakedness of a modern fashionable at a rout. From this my
choice of an era the understanding critic may farther presage that the
object of my tale is more a description of men than manners. A tale of
manners, to be interesting, must either refer to antiquity so great as to
have become venerable, or it must bear a vivid reflection of those
scenes which are passing daily before our eyes, and are interesting from
their novelty. Thus the coat-of-mail of our ancestors, and the
triple-furred pelisse of our modern beaux, may, though for very
different reasons, be equally fit for the array of a fictitious character;
but who, meaning the costume of his hero to be impressive, would
willingly attire him in the court dress of George the Second's reign,
with its no collar, large sleeves, and low pocket-holes? The same may
be urged, with equal truth, of the Gothic hall, which, with its darkened
and tinted windows, its elevated and gloomy roof, and massive oaken
table garnished with boar's-head and rosemary, pheasants and peacocks,
cranes and cygnets, has an excellent effect in fictitious description.
Much may also be gained by a lively display of a modern fete, such as
we have daily recorded in that part of a newspaper entitled the Mirror
of Fashion, if we contrast these, or either of them, with the splendid
formality of an entertainment given Sixty Years Since; and thus it will
be readily seen how much the painter of antique or of fashionable
manners gains over him who delineates those of the last generation.
Considering the disadvantages inseparable from this part of my subject,
I must be understood to have resolved to avoid them as much as
possible, by throwing the force of my narrative upon the characters and
passions of the actors;--those passions common to men in all stages of
society, and which have alike agitated the human heart, whether it
throbbed under the steel corslet of the fifteenth century, the brocaded
coat of the eighteenth, or the blue frock and white dimity waistcoat of
the present day. [Footnote: Alas' that attire, respectable and
gentlemanlike in 1805, or thereabouts, is now as antiquated as the
Author of Waverley has himself become since that period! The reader
of fashion will please to fill up the costume with an embroidered
waistcoat of purple velvet or silk, and a coat of whatever colour he
pleases.] Upon these passions it is no doubt true that the state of
manners and laws casts a necessary colouring; but the bearings, to use
the language of heraldry, remain the same, though the tincture may be
not only different, but opposed in strong contradistinction. The wrath of
our ancestors, for example, was coloured gules; it broke forth in acts of
open and sanguinary violence against the objects of its fury. Our
malignant feelings, which must seek gratification through more indirect
channels, and undermine the obstacles which they cannot openly bear
down, may be rather said to be tinctured sable. But the deep-ruling
impulse is the same in both cases; and the proud peer, who can now
only ruin his neighbour according to law, by protracted suits, is the
genuine descendant of the baron who wrapped the castle of his
competitor in flames, and knocked him on the head as he endeavoured
to escape from the conflagration. It is from the great book of Nature,
the same through a thousand editions, whether of black-letter, or
wire-wove and hot-pressed, that I have venturously essayed to read a
chapter to the public. Some favourable opportunities of contrast have
been afforded me by the state of society in the northern part of the
island at the period of my history, and may serve at once to vary and to
illustrate the moral lessons, which I would willingly consider as the
most important part of my plan; although I am sensible how short these
will fall of their aim if I shall be found unable to mix them with
amusement--a task not quite so easy in this critical generation as it was
'Sixty Years Since.'
CHAPTER II
WAVERLEY-HONOUR--A RETROSPECT
It is, then, sixty years since Edward Waverley, the hero of the following
pages, took leave of his family, to join the regiment of dragoons in
which he had lately obtained a commission. It was a melancholy day at
Waverley-Honour when the young officer parted with Sir Everard, the
affectionate old uncle to whose title and estate he was presumptive heir.
A difference in political opinions had early separated the Baronet from
his younger brother Richard Waverley, the father of our hero. Sir
Everard had inherited from his sires the whole train of Tory or
High-Church predilections and prejudices which had distinguished the
house of Waverley since the Great Civil War. Richard, on the contrary,
who was ten years younger, beheld himself born to the fortune of a
second brother, and anticipated neither dignity nor entertainment in
sustaining the character of Will Wimble. He saw early that, to succeed
in the race of life, it was necessary he should carry as little weight as
possible. Painters talk of the difficulty of expressing the existence of
compound passions in the same features at the same moment; it would
be no less difficult for the moralist to analyse the mixed motives which
unite to form the impulse of our actions. Richard Waverley read and
satisfied himself from history and sound argument that, in the words of
the old song,
Passive obedience was a jest, And pshaw! was non-resistance;
yet reason would have probably been unable to combat and remove
hereditary prejudice could Richard have anticipated that his elder
brother, Sir Everard, taking to heart an early disappointment, would
have remained a bachelor at seventy-two. The prospect of succession,
however remote, might in that case have led him to endure dragging
through the greater part of his life as 'Master Richard at the Hall, the
Baronet's brother,' in the hope that ere its conclusion he should be
distinguished as Sir Richard Waverley of Waverley-Honour, successor
to a princely estate, and to extended political connections as head of the
county interest in the shire where it lay.
But this was a consummation of things not to be expected at Richard's
outset, when Sir Everard was in the prime of life, and certain to be an
acceptable suitor in almost any family, whether wealth or beauty
should be the object of his pursuit, and when, indeed, his speedy
marriage was a report which regularly amused the neighbourhood once
a year. His younger brother saw no practicable road to independence
save that of relying upon his own exertions, and adopting a political
creed more consonant both to reason and his own interest than the
hereditary faith of Sir Everard in High-Church and in the house of
Stuart. He therefore read his recantation at the beginning of his career,
and entered life as an avowed Whig and friend of the Hanover
succession.
The ministry of George the First's time were prudently anxious to
diminish the phalanx of opposition. The Tory nobility, depending for
their reflected lustre upon the sunshine of a court, had for some time
been gradually reconciling themselves to the new dynasty. But the
wealthy country gentlemen of England, a rank which retained, with
much of ancient manners and primitive integrity, a great proportion of
obstinate and unyielding prejudice, stood aloof in haughty and sullen
opposition, and cast many a look of mingled regret and hope to Bois le
Due, Avignon, and Italy. [Footnote: Where the Chevalier St. George, or,
as he was termed, the Old Pretender, held his exiled court, as his
situation compelled him to shift his place of residence.] The accession
of the near relation of one of those steady and inflexible opponents was
considered as a means of bringing over more converts, and therefore
Richard Waverley met with a share of ministerial favour more than
proportioned to his talents or his political importance. It was, however,
discovered that he had respectable talents for public business, and the
first admittance to the minister's levee being negotiated, his success
became rapid. Sir Everard learned from the public 'News-Letter,' first,
that Richard Waverley, Esquire, was returned for the ministerial
borough of Barterfaith; next, that Richard Waverley, Esquire, had taken
a distinguished part in the debate upon the Excise Bill in the support of
government; and, lastly, that Richard Waverley, Esquire, had been
honoured with a seat at one of those boards where the pleasure of
serving the country is combined with other important gratifications,
which, to render them the more acceptable, occur regularly once a
quarter.
Although these events followed each other so closely that the sagacity
of the editor of a modern newspaper would have presaged the two last
even while he announced the first, yet they came upon Sir Everard
gradually, and drop by drop, as it were, distilled through the cool and
procrastinating alembic of Dyer's 'Weekly Letter.' [Footnote: See Note
I. ] For it may be observed in passing, that instead of those
mail-coaches, by means of which every mechanic at his six-penny club,
may nightly learn from twenty contradictory channels the yesterday's
news of the capital, a weekly post brought, in those days, to
Waverley-Honour, a Weekly Intelligencer, which, after it had gratified
Sir Everard's curiosity, his sister's, and that of his aged butler, was
regularly transferred from the Hall to the Rectory, from the Rectory to
Squire Stubbs's at the Grange, from the Squire to the Baronet's steward
at his neat white house on the heath, from the steward to the bailiff, and
from him through a huge circle of honest dames and gaffers, by whose
hard and horny hands it was generally worn to pieces in about a month
after its arrival.
This slow succession of intelligence was of some advantage to Richard
Waverley in the case before us; for, had the sum total of his enormities
reached the ears of Sir Everard at once, there can be no doubt that the
new commissioner would have had little reason to pique himself on the
success of his politics. The Baronet, although the mildest of human
beings, was not without sensitive points in his character; his brother's
conduct had wounded these deeply; the Waverley estate was fettered by
no entail (for it had never entered into the head of any of its former
possessors that one of their progeny could be guilty of the atrocities
laid by Dyer's 'Letter' to the door of Richard), and if it had, the
marriage of the proprietor might have been fatal to a collateral heir.
These various ideas floated through the brain of Sir Everard without,
however, producing any determined conclusion.
He examined the tree of his genealogy, which, emblazoned with many
an emblematic mark of honour and heroic achievement, hung upon the
well-varnished wainscot of his hall. The nearest descendants of Sir
Hildebrand Waverley, failing those of his eldest son Wilfred, of whom
Sir Everard and his brother were the only representatives, were, as this
honoured register informed him (and, indeed, as he himself well knew),
the Waverleys of Highley Park, com. Hants; with whom the main
branch, or rather stock, of the house had renounced all connection since
the great law-suit in 1670.
This degenerate scion had committed a farther offence against the head
and source of their gentility, by the intermarriage of their representative
with Judith, heiress of Oliver Bradshawe, of Highley Park, whose arms,
the same with those of Bradshawe the regicide, they had quartered with
the ancient coat of Waverley. These offences, however, had vanished
from Sir Everard's recollection in the heat of his resentment; and had
Lawyer Clippurse, for whom his groom was despatched express,
arrived but an hour earlier, he might have had the benefit of drawing a
new settlement of the lordship and manor of Waverley-Honour, with all
its dependencies. But an hour of cool reflection is a great matter when
employed in weighing the comparative evil of two measures to neither
of which we are internally partial. Lawyer Clippurse found his patron
involved in a deep study, which he was too respectful to disturb,
otherwise than by producing his paper and leathern ink-case, as
prepared to minute his honour's commands. Even this slight manoeuvre
was embarrassing to Sir Everard, who felt it as a reproach to his
indecision. He looked at the attorney with some desire to issue his fiat,
when the sun, emerging from behind a cloud, poured at once its
chequered light through the stained window of the gloomy cabinet in
which they were seated. The Baronet's eye, as he raised it to the
splendour, fell right upon the central scutcheon, inpressed with the
same device which his ancestor was said to have borne in the field of
Hastings,--three ermines passant, argent, in a field azure, with its
appropriate motto, Sans tache. 'May our name rather perish,' exclaimed
Sir Everard, 'than that ancient and loyal symbol should be blended with
the dishonoured insignia of a traitorous Roundhead!'
All this was the effect of the glimpse of a sunbeam, just sufficient to
light Lawyer Clippurse to mend his pen. The pen was mended in vain.
The attorney was dismissed, with directions to hold himself in
readiness on the first summons.
The apparition of Lawyer Clippurse at the Hall occasioned much
speculation in that portion of the world to which Waverley-Honour
formed the centre. But the more judicious politicians of this microcosm
augured yet worse consequences to Richard Waverley from a
movement which shortly followed his apostasy. This was no less than
an excursion of the Baronet in his coach-and-six, with four attendants
in rich liveries, to make a visit of some duration to a noble peer on the
confines of the shire, of untainted descent, steady Tory principles, and
the happy father of six unmarried and accomplished daughters.
Sir Everard's reception in this family was, as it may be easily conceived,
sufficiently favourable; but of the six young ladies, his taste
unfortunately determined him in favour of Lady Emily, the youngest,
who received his attentions with an embarrassment which showed at
once that she durst not decline them, and that they afforded her
anything but pleasure.
Sir Everard could not but perceive something uncommon in the
restrained emotions which the young lady testified at the advances he
hazarded; but, assured by the prudent Countess that they were the
natural effects of a retired education, the sacrifice might have been
completed, as doubtless has happened in many similar instances, had it
not been for the courage of an elder sister, who revealed to the wealthy
suitor that Lady Emily's affections were fixed upon a young soldier of
fortune, a near relation of her own.
Sir Everard manifested great emotion on receiving this intelligence,
which was confirmed to him, in a private interview, by the young lady
herself, although under the most dreadful apprehensions of her father's
indignation.
Honour and generosity were hereditary attributes of the house of
Waverley. With a grace and delicacy worthy the hero of a romance, Sir
Everard withdrew his claim to the hand of Lady Emily. He had even,
before leaving Blandeville Castle, the address to extort from her father
a consent to her union with the object of her choice. What arguments he
used on this point cannot exactly be known, for Sir Everard was never
supposed strong in the powers of persuasion; but the young officer,
immediately after this transaction, rose in the army with a rapidity far
surpassing the usual pace of unpatronised professional merit, although,
to outward appearance, that was all he had to depend upon.
The shock which Sir Everard encountered upon this occasion, although
diminished by the consciousness of having acted virtuously and
generously had its effect upon his future life. His resolution of marriage
had been adopted in a fit of indignation; the labour of courtship did not
quite suit the dignified indolence of his habits; he had but just escaped
the risk of marrying a woman who could never love him, and his pride
could not be greatly flattered by the termination of his amour, even if
his heart had not suffered. The result of the whole matter was his return
to Waverley-Honour without any transfer of his affections,
notwithstanding the sighs and languishments of the fair tell-tale, who
had revealed, in mere sisterly affection, the secret of Lady Emily's
attachment, and in despite of the nods, winks, and innuendos of the
officious lady mother, and the grave eulogiums which the Earl
pronounced successively on the prudence, and good sense, and
admirable dispositions, of his first, second, third, fourth, and fifth
daughters.
The memory of his unsuccessful amour was with Sir Everard, as with
many more of his temper, at once shy, proud, sensitive, and indolent, a
beacon against exposing himself to similar mortification, pain, and
fruitless exertion for the time to come. He continued to live at
Waverley-Honour in the style of an old English gentleman, of an
ancient descent and opulent fortune. His sister, Miss Rachel Waverley,
presided at his table; and they became, by degrees, an old bachelor and
an ancient maiden lady, the gentlest and kindest of the votaries of
celibacy.
The vehemence of Sir Everard's resentment against his brother was but
short-lived; yet his dislike to the Whig and the placeman, though
unable to stimulate him to resume any active measures prejudicial to
Richard's interest, in the succession to the family estate, continued to
maintain the coldness between them. Richard knew enough of the
world, and of his brother's temper, to believe that by any ill-considered
or precipitate advances on his part, he might turn passive dislike into a
more active principle. It was accident, therefore, which at length
occasioned a renewal of their intercourse. Richard had married a young
woman of rank, by whose family interest and private fortune he hoped
to advance his career. In her right he became possessor of a manor of
some value, at the distance of a few miles from Waverley-Honour.
Little Edward, the hero of our tale, then in his fifth year, was their only
child. It chanced that the infant with his maid had strayed one morning
to a mile's distance from the avenue of Brerewood Lodge, his father's
seat. Their attention was attracted by a carriage drawn by six stately
long-tailed black horses, and with as much carving and gilding as
would have done honour to my lord mayor's. It was waiting for the
owner, who was at a little distance inspecting the progress of a
half-built farm-house. I know not whether the boy's nurse had been a
Welsh--or a Scotch-woman, or in what manner he associated a shield
emblazoned with three ermines with the idea of personal property, but
he no sooner beheld this family emblem than he stoutly determined on
vindicating his right to the splendid vehicle on which it was displayed.
The Baronet arrived while the boy's maid was in vain endeavouring to
make him desist from his determination to appropriate the gilded
coach-and-six. The rencontre was at a happy moment for Edward, as
his uncle had been just eyeing wistfully, with something of a feeling
like envy, the chubby boys of the stout yeoman whose mansion was
building by his direction. In the round-faced rosy cherub before him,
bearing his eye and his name, and vindicating a hereditary title to his
family, affection, and patronage, by means of a tie which Sir Everard
held as sacred as either Garter or Blue-mantle, Providence seemed to
have granted to him the very object best calculated to fill up the void in
his hopes and affections. Sir Everard returned to Waverley-Hall upon a
led horse, which was kept in readiness for him, while the child and his
attendant were sent home in the carriage to Brerewood Lodge, with
such a message as opened to Richard Waverley a door of reconciliation
with his elder brother.
Their intercourse, however, though thus renewed, continued to be
rather formal and civil than partaking of brotherly cordiality; yet it was
sufficient to the wishes of both parties. Sir Everard obtained, in the
frequent society of his little nephew, something on which his hereditary
pride might found the anticipated pleasure of a continuation of his
lineage, and where his kind and gentle affections could at the same time
fully exercise themselves. For Richard Waverley, he beheld in the
growing attachment between the uncle and nephew the means of
securing his son's, if not his own, succession to the hereditary estate,
which he felt would be rather endangered than promoted by any
attempt on his own part towards a closer intimacy with a man of Sir
Everard's habits and opinions.
Thus, by a sort of tacit compromise, little Edward was permitted to pass
the greater part of the year at the Hall, and appeared to stand in the
same intimate relation to both families, although their mutual
intercourse was otherwise limited to formal messages and more formal
visits. The education of the youth was regulated alternately by the taste
and opinions of his uncle and of his father. But more of this in a
subsequent chapter.
CHAPTER III
EDUCATION
The education of our hero, Edward Waverley, was of a nature
somewhat desultory. In infancy his health suffered, or was supposed to
suffer (which is quite the same thing), by the air of London. As soon,
therefore, as official duties, attendance on Parliament, or the
prosecution of any of his plans of interest or ambition, called his father
to town, which was his usual residence for eight months in the year,
Edward was transferred to Waverley-Honour, and experienced a total
change of instructors and of lessons, as well as of residence. This might
have been remedied had his father placed him under the
superintendence of a permanent tutor. But he considered that one of his
choosing would probably have been unacceptable at Waverley-Honour,
and that such a selection as Sir Everard might have made, were the
matter left to him, would have burdened him with a disagreeable
inmate, if not a political spy, in his family. He therefore prevailed upon
his private secretary, a young man of taste and accomplishments, to
bestow an hour or two on Edward's education while at Brerewood
Lodge, and left his uncle answerable for his improvement in literature
while an inmate at the Hall. This was in some degree respectably
provided for. Sir Everard's chaplain, an Oxonian, who had lost his
fellowship for declining to take the oaths at the accession of George I,
was not only an excellent classical scholar, but reasonably skilled in
science, and master of most modern languages. He was, however, old
and indulgent, and the recurring interregnum, during which Edward
was entirely freed from his discipline, occasioned such a relaxation of
authority, that the youth was permitted, in a great measure, to learn as
he pleased, what he pleased, and when he pleased. This slackness of
rule might have been ruinous to a boy of slow understanding, who,
feeling labour in the acquisition of knowledge, would have altogether
neglected it, save for the command of a taskmaster; and it might have
proved equally dangerous to a youth whose animal spirits were more
powerful than his imagination or his feelings, and whom the irresistible
influence of Alma would have engaged in field-sports from morning till
night. But the character of Edward Waverley was remote from either of
these. His powers of apprehension were so uncommonly quick as
almost to resemble intuition, and the chief care of his preceptor was to
prevent him, as a sportsman would phrase it, from over-running his
game--that is, from acquiring his knowledge in a slight, flimsy, and
inadequate manner. And here the instructor had to combat another
propensity too often united with brilliancy of fancy and vivacity of
talent--that indolence, namely, of disposition, which can only be stirred
by some strong motive of gratification, and which renounces study as
soon as curiosity is gratified, the pleasure of conquering the first
difficulties exhausted, and the novelty of pursuit at an end. Edward
would throw himself with spirit upon any classical author of which his
preceptor proposed the perusal, make himself master of the style so far
as to understand the story, and, if that pleased or interested him, he
finished the volume. But it was in vain to attempt fixing his attention
on critical distinctions of philology, upon the difference of idiom, the
beauty of felicitous expression, or the artificial combinations of syntax.
'I can read and understand a Latin author,' said young Edward, with the
self-confidence and rash reasoning of fifteen, 'and Scaliger or Bentley
could not do much more.' Alas! while he was thus permitted to read
only for the gratification of his amusement, he foresaw not that he was
losing for ever the opportunity of acquiring habits of firm and
assiduous application, of gaining the art of controlling, directing, and
concentrating the powers of his mind for earnest investigation--an art
far more essential than even that intimate acquaintance with classical
learning which is the primary object of study.
I am aware I may be here reminded of the necessity of rendering
instruction agreeable to youth, and of Tasso's infusion of honey into the
medicine prepared for a child; but an age in which children are taught
the driest doctrines by the insinuating method of instructive games, has
little reason to dread the consequences of study being rendered too
serious or severe. The history of England is now reduced to a game at
cards, the problems of mathematics to puzzles and riddles, and the
doctrines of arithmetic may, we are assured, be sufficiently acquired by
spending a few hours a week at a new and complicated edition of the
Royal Game of the Goose. There wants but one step further, and the
Creed and Ten Commandments may be taught in the same manner,
without the necessity of the grave face, deliberate tone of recital, and
devout attention, hitherto exacted from the well-governed childhood of
this realm. It may, in the meantime, be subject of serious consideration,
whether those who are accustomed only to acquire instruction through
the medium of amusement may not be brought to reject that which
approaches under the aspect of study; whether those who learn history
by the cards may not be led to prefer the means to the end; and whether,
were we to teach religion in the way of sport, our pupils may not
thereby be gradually induced to make sport of their religion. To our
young hero, who was permitted to seek his instruction only according
to the bent of his own mind, and who, of consequence, only sought it so
long as it afforded him amusement, the indulgence of his tutors was
attended with evil consequences, which long continued to influence his
character, happiness, and utility.
Edward's power of imagination and love of literature, although the
former was vivid and the latter ardent, were so far from affording a
remedy to this peculiar evil, that they rather inflamed and increased its
violence. The library at Waverley-Honour, a large Gothic room, with
double arches and a gallery, contained such a miscellaneous and
extensive collection of volumes as had been assembled together, during
the course of two hundred years, by a family which had been always
wealthy, and inclined, of course, as a mark of splendour, to furnish
their shelves with the current literature of the day, without much
scrutiny or nicety of discrimination. Throughout this ample realm
Edward was permitted to roam at large. His tutor had his own studies;
and church politics and controversial divinity, together with a love of
learned ease, though they did not withdraw his attention at stated times
from the progress of his patron's presumptive heir, induced him readily
to grasp at any apology for not extending a strict and regulated survey
towards his general studies. Sir Everard had never been himself a
student, and, like his sister, Miss Rachel Waverley, he held the
common doctrine, that idleness is incompatible with reading of any
kind, and that the mere tracing the alphabetical characters with the eye
is in itself a useful and meritorious task, without scrupulously
considering what ideas or doctrines they may happen to convey. With a
desire of amusement, therefore, which better discipline might soon
have converted into a thirst for knowledge, young Waverley drove
through the sea of books like a vessel without a pilot or a rudder.
Nothing perhaps increases by indulgence more than a desultory habit of
reading, especially under such opportunities of gratifying it. I believe
one reason why such numerous instances of erudition occur among the
lower ranks is, that, with the same powers of mind, the poor student is
limited to a narrow circle for indulging his passion for books, and must
necessarily make himself master of the few he possesses ere he can
acquire more. Edward, on the contrary, like the epicure who only
deigned to take a single morsel from the sunny side of a peach, read no
volume a moment after it ceased to excite his curiosity or interest; and
it necessarily happened, that the habit of seeking only this sort of
gratification rendered it daily more difficult of attainment, till the
passion for reading, like other strong appetites, produced by indulgence
a sort of satiety.
Ere he attained this indifference, however, he had read, and stored in a
memory of uncommon tenacity, much curious, though ill-arranged and
miscellaneous information. In English literature he was master of
Shakespeare and Milton, of our earlier dramatic authors, of many
picturesque and interesting passages from our old historical chronicles,
and was particularly well acquainted with Spenser, Drayton, and other
poets who have exercised themselves on romantic fiction, of all themes
the most fascinating to a youthful imagination, before the passions have
roused themselves and demand poetry of a more sentimental
description. In this respect his acquaintance with Italian opened him yet
a wider range. He had perused the numerous romantic poems, which,
from the days of Pulci, have been a favourite exercise of the wits of
Italy, and had sought gratification in the numerous collections of
novelle, which were brought forth by the genius of that elegant though
luxurious nation, in emulation of the 'Decameron.' In classical literature,
Waverley had made the usual progress, and read the usual authors; and
the French had afforded him an almost exhaustless collection of
memoirs, scarcely more faithful than romances, and of romances so
well written as hardly to be distinguished from memoirs. The splendid
pages of Froissart, with his heart-stirring and eye-dazzling descriptions
of war and of tournaments, were among his chief favourites; and from
those of Brantome and De la Noue he learned to compare the wild and
loose, yet superstitious, character of the nobles of the League with the
stern, rigid, and sometimes turbulent disposition of the Huguenot party.
The Spanish had contributed to his stock of chivalrous and romantic
lore. The earlier literature of the northern nations did not escape the
study of one who read rather to awaken the imagination than to benefit
the understanding. And yet, knowing much that is known but to few,
Edward Waverley might justly be considered as ignorant, since he
knew little of what adds dignity to man, and qualifies him to support
and adorn an elevated situation in society.
The occasional attention of his parents might indeed have been of
service to prevent the dissipation of mind incidental to such a desultory
course of reading. But his mother died in the seventh year after the
reconciliation between the brothers, and Richard Waverley himself,
who, after this event, resided more constantly in London, was too much
interested in his own plans of wealth and ambition to notice more
respecting Edward than that he was of a very bookish turn, and
probably destined to be a bishop. If he could have discovered and
analysed his son's waking dreams, he would have formed a very
different conclusion.
CHAPTER IV
CASTLE-BUILDING
I have already hinted that the dainty, squeamish, and fastidious taste
acquired by a surfeit of idle reading had not only rendered our hero
unfit for serious and sober study, but had even disgusted him in some
degree with that in which he had hitherto indulged.
He was in his sixteenth year when his habits of abstraction and love of
solitude became so much marked as to excite Sir Everard's affectionate
apprehension. He tried to counterbalance these propensities by
engaging his nephew in field-sports, which had been the chief pleasure
of his own youthful days. But although Edward eagerly carried the gun
for one season, yet when practice had given him some dexterity, the
pastime ceased to afford him amusement.
In the succeeding spring, the perusal of old Isaac Walton's fascinating
volume determined Edward to become 'a brother of the angle.' But of
all diversions which ingenuity ever devised for the relief of idleness,
fishing is the worst qualified to amuse a man who is at once indolent
and impatient; and our hero's rod was speedily flung aside. Society and
example, which, more than any other motives, master and sway the
natural bent of our passions, might have had their usual effect upon the
youthful visionary. But the neighbourhood was thinly inhabited, and
the home-bred young squires whom it afforded were not of a class fit to
form Edward's usual companions, far less to excite him to emulation in
the practice of those pastimes which composed the serious business of
their lives.
There were a few other youths of better education and a more liberal
character, but from their society also our hero was in some degree
excluded. Sir Everard had, upon the death of Queen Anne, resigned his
seat in Parliament, and, as his age increased and the number of his
contemporaries diminished, had gradually withdrawn himself from
society; so that when, upon any particular occasion, Edward mingled
with accomplished and well-educated young men of his own rank and
expectations, he felt an inferiority in their company, not so much from
deficiency of information, as from the want of the skill to command
and to arrange that which he possessed. A deep and increasing
sensibility added to this dislike of society. The idea of having
committed the slightest solecism in politeness, whether real or
imaginary, was agony to him; for perhaps even guilt itself does not
impose upon some minds so keen a sense of shame and remorse, as a
modest, sensitive, and inexperienced youth feels from the
consciousness of having neglected etiquette or excited ridicule. Where
we are not at ease, we cannot be happy; and therefore it is not
surprising that Edward Waverley supposed that he disliked and was
unfitted for society, merely because he had not yet acquired the habit of
living in it with ease and comfort, and of reciprocally giving and
receiving pleasure.
The hours he spent with his uncle and aunt were exhausted in listening
to the oft-repeated tale of narrative old age. Yet even there his
imagination, the predominant faculty of his mind, was frequently
excited. Family tradition and genealogical history, upon which much of
Sir Everard's discourse turned, is the very reverse of amber, which,
itself a valuable substance, usually includes flies, straws, and other
trifles; whereas these studies, being themselves very insignificant and
trifling, do nevertheless serve to perpetuate a great deal of what is rare
and valuable in ancient manners, and to record many curious and
minute facts which could have been preserved and conveyed through
no other medium. If, therefore, Edward Waverley yawned at times over
the dry deduction of his line of ancestors, with their various
intermarriages, and inwardly deprecated the remorseless and protracted
accuracy with which the worthy Sir Everard rehearsed the various
degrees of propinquity between the house of Waverley-Honour and the
doughty barons, knights, and squires to whom they stood allied; if
(notwithstanding his obligations to the three ermines passant) he
sometimes cursed in his heart the jargon of heraldry, its griffins, its
moldwarps, its wyverns, and its dragons, with all the bitterness of
Hotspur himself, there were moments when these communications
interested his fancy and rewarded his attention.
The deeds of Wilibert of Waverley in the Holy Land, his long absence
and perilous adventures, his supposed death, and his return on the
evening when the betrothed of his heart had wedded the hero who had
protected her from insult and oppression during his absence; the
generosity with which the Crusader relinquished his claims, and sought
in a neighbouring cloister that peace which passeth not away; [Footnote:
See Note 2.]--to these and similar tales he would hearken till his heart
glowed and his eye glistened. Nor was he less affected when his aunt,
Mrs. Rachel, narrated the sufferings and fortitude of Lady Alice
Waverley during the Great Civil War. The benevolent features of the
venerable spinster kindled into more majestic expression as she told
how Charles had, after the field of Worcester, found a day's refuge at
Waverley-Honour, and how, when a troop of cavalry were approaching
to search the mansion, Lady Alice dismissed her youngest son with a
handful of domestics, charging them to make good with their lives an
hour's diversion, that the king might have that space for escape. 'And,
God help her,' would Mrs. Rachel continue, fixing her eyes upon the
heroine's portrait as she spoke, 'full dearly did she purchase the safety
of her prince with the life of her darling child. They brought him here a
prisoner, mortally wounded; and you may trace the drops of his blood
from the great hall door along the little gallery, and up to the saloon,
where they laid him down to die at his mother's feet. But there was
comfort exchanged between them; for he knew, from the glance of his
mother's eye, that the purpose of his desperate defence was attained. Ah!
I remember,' she continued, 'I remember well to have seen one that
knew and loved him. Miss Lucy Saint Aubin lived and died a maid for
his sake, though one of the most beautiful and wealthy matches in this
country; all the world ran after her, but she wore widow's mourning all
her life for poor William, for they were betrothed though not married,
and died in--I cannot think of the date; but I remember, in the
November of that very year, when she found herself sinking, she
desired to be brought to Waverley-Honour once more, and visited all
the places where she had been with my grand-uncle, and caused the
carpets to be raised that she might trace the impression of his blood,
and if tears could have washed it out, it had not been there now; for
there was not a dry eye in the house. You would have thought, Edward,
that the very trees mourned for her, for their leaves dropt around her
without a gust of wind, and, indeed, she looked like one that would
never see them green again.'
From such legends our hero would steal away to indulge the fancies
they excited. In the corner of the large and sombre library, with no
other light than was afforded by the decaying brands on its ponderous
and ample hearth, he would exercise for hours that internal sorcery by
which past or imaginary events are presented in action, as it were, to
the eye of the muser. Then arose in long and fair array the splendour of
the bridal feast at Waverley-Castle; the tall and emaciated form of its
real lord, as he stood in his pilgrim's weeds, an unnoticed spectator of
the festivities of his supposed heir and intended bride; the electrical
shock occasioned by the discovery; the springing of the vassals to arms;
the astonishment of the bridegroom; the terror and confusion of the
bride; the agony with which Wilibert observed that her heart as well as
consent was in these nuptials; the air of dignity, yet of deep feeling,
with which he flung down the half-drawn sword, and turned away for
ever from the house of his ancestors. Then would he change the scene,
and fancy would at his wish represent Aunt Rachel's tragedy. He saw
the Lady Waverley seated in her bower, her ear strained to every sound,
her heart throbbing with double agony, now listening to the decaying
echo of the hoofs of the king's horse, and when that had died away,
hearing in every breeze that shook the trees of the park, the noise of the
remote skirmish. A distant sound is heard like the rushing of a swoln
stream; it comes nearer, and Edward can plainly distinguish the
galloping of horses, the cries and shouts of men, with straggling
pistol-shots between, rolling forwards to the Hall. The lady starts up--a
terrified menial rushes in--but why pursue such a description?
As living in this ideal world became daily more delectable to our hero,
interruption was disagreeable in proportion. The extensive domain that
surrounded the Hall, which, far exceeding the dimensions of a park,
was usually termed Waverley-Chase, had originally been forest ground,
and still, though broken by extensive glades, in which the young deer
were sporting, retained its pristine and savage character. It was
traversed by broad avenues, in many places half grown up with
brush-wood, where the beauties of former days used to take their stand
to see the stag coursed with greyhounds, or to gain an aim at him with
the crossbow. In one spot, distinguished by a moss-grown Gothic
monument, which retained the name of Queen's Standing, Elizabeth
herself was said to have pierced seven bucks with her own arrows. This
was a very favourite haunt of Waverley. At other times, with his gun
and his spaniel, which served as an apology to others, and with a book
in his pocket, which perhaps served as an apology to himself, he used
to pursue one of these long avenues, which, after an ascending sweep
of four miles, gradually narrowed into a rude and contracted path
through the cliffy and woody pass called Mirkwood Dingle, and
opened suddenly upon a deep, dark, and small lake, named, from the
same cause, Mirkwood-Mere. There stood, in former times, a solitary
tower upon a rock almost surrounded by the water, which had acquired
the name of the Strength of Waverley, because in perilous times it had
often been the refuge of the family. There, in the wars of York and
Lancaster, the last adherents of the Red Rose who dared to maintain her
cause carried on a harassing and predatory warfare, till the stronghold
was reduced by the celebrated Richard of Gloucester. Here, too, a party
of Cavaliers long maintained themselves under Nigel Waverley, elder
brother of that William whose fate Aunt Rachel commemorated.
Through these scenes it was that Edward loved to 'chew the cud of
sweet and bitter fancy,' and, like a child among his toys, culled and
arranged, from the splendid yet useless imagery and emblems with
which his imagination was stored, visions as brilliant and as fading as
those of an evening sky. The effect of this indulgence upon his temper
and character will appear in the next chapter.
CHAPTER V
CHOICE OF A PROFESSION
From the minuteness with which I have traced Waverley's pursuits, and
the bias which these unavoidably communicated to his imagination, the
reader may perhaps anticipate, in the following tale, an imitation of the
romance of Cervantes. But he will do my prudence injustice in the
supposition. My intention is not to follow the steps of that inimitable
author, in describing such total perversion of intellect as misconstrues
the objects actually presented to the senses, but that more common
aberration from sound judgment, which apprehends occurrences indeed
in their reality, but communicates to them a tincture of its own
romantic tone and colouring. So far was Edward Waverley from
expecting general sympathy with his own feelings, or concluding that
the present state of things was calculated to exhibit the reality of those
visions in which he loved to indulge, that he dreaded nothing more than
the detection of such sentiments as were dictated by his musings. He
neither had nor wished to have a confidant, with whom to communicate
his reveries; and so sensible was he of the ridicule attached to them,
that, had he been to choose between any punishment short of ignominy,
and the necessity of giving a cold and composed account of the ideal
world in which he lived the better part of his days, I think he would not
have hesitated to prefer the former infliction. This secrecy became
doubly precious as he felt in advancing life the influence of the
awakening passions. Female forms of exquisite grace and beauty began
to mingle in his mental adventures; nor was he long without looking
abroad to compare the creatures of his own imagination with the
females of actual life.
The list of the beauties who displayed their hebdomadal finery at the
parish church of Waverley was neither numerous nor select. By far the
most passable was Miss Sissly, or, as she rather chose to be called,
Miss Cecilia Stubbs, daughter of Squire Stubbs at the Grange. I know
not whether it was by the 'merest accident in the world,' a phrase which,
from female lips, does not always exclude malice prepense, or whether
it was from a conformity of taste, that Miss Cecilia more than once
crossed Edward in his favourite walks through Waverley-Chase. He
had not as yet assumed courage to accost her on these occasions; but
the meeting was not without its effect. A romantic lover is a strange
idolater, who sometimes cares not out of what log he frames the object
of his adoration; at least, if nature has given that object any passable
proportion of personal charms, he can easily play the Jeweller and
Dervise in the Oriental tale, [Footnote: See Hoppner's tale of The Seven
Lovers.] and supply her richly, out of the stores of his own imagination,
with supernatural beauty, and all the properties of intellectual wealth.
But ere the charms of Miss Cecilia Stubbs had erected her into a
positive goddess, or elevated her at least to a level with the saint her
namesake, Mrs. Rachel Waverley gained some intimation which
determined her to prevent the approaching apotheosis. Even the most
simple and unsuspicious of the female sex have (God bless them!) an
instinctive sharpness of perception in such matters, which sometimes
goes the length of observing partialities that never existed, but rarely
misses to detect such as pass actually under their observation. Mrs.
Rachel applied herself with great prudence, not to combat, but to elude,
the approaching danger, and suggested to her brother the necessity that
the heir of his house should see something more of the world than was
consistent with constant residence at Waverley-Honour.
Sir Everard would not at first listen to a proposal which went to
separate his nephew from him. Edward was a little bookish, he
admitted, but youth, he had always heard, was the season for learning,
and, no doubt, when his rage for letters was abated, and his head fully
stocked with knowledge, his nephew would take to field-sports and
country business. He had often, he said, himself regretted that he had
not spent some time in study during his youth: he would neither have
shot nor hunted with less skill, and he might have made the roof of
Saint Stephen's echo to longer orations than were comprised in those
zealous Noes, with which, when a member of the House during
Godolphin's administration, he encountered every measure of
government.
Aunt Rachel's anxiety, however, lent her address to carry her point.
Every representative of their house had visited foreign parts, or served
his country in the army, before he settled for life at Waverley-Honour,
and she appealed for the truth of her assertion to the genealogical
pedigree, an authority which Sir Everard was never known to contradict.
In short, a proposal was made to Mr. Richard Waverley, that his son
should travel, under the direction of his present tutor Mr. Pembroke,
with a suitable allowance from the Baronet's liberality. The father
himself saw no objection to this overture; but upon mentioning it
casually at the table of the minister, the great man looked grave. The
reason was explained in private. The unhappy turn of Sir Everard's
politics, the minister observed, was such as would render it highly
improper that a young gentleman of such hopeful prospects should
travel on the Continent with a tutor doubtless of his uncle's choosing,
and directing his course by his instructions. What might Mr. Edward
Waverley's society be at Paris, what at Rome, where all manner of
snares were spread by the Pretender and his sons--these were points for
Mr. Waverley to consider. This he could himself say, that he knew his
Majesty had such a just sense of Mr. Richard Waverley's merits, that, if
his son adopted the army for a few years, a troop, he believed, might be
reckoned upon in one of the dragoon regiments lately returned from
Flanders.
A hint thus conveyed and enforced was not to be neglected with
impunity; and Richard Waverley, though with great dread of shocking
his brother's prejudices, deemed he could not avoid accepting the
commission thus offered him for his son. The truth is, he calculated
much, and justly, upon Sir Everard's fondness for Edward, which made
him unlikely to resent any step that he might take in due submission to
parental authority. Two letters announced this determination to the
Baronet and his nephew. The latter barely communicated the fact, and
pointed out the necessary preparations for joining his regiment. To his
brother, Richard was more diffuse and circuitous. He coincided with
him, in the most flattering manner, in the propriety of his son's seeing a
little more of the world, and was even humble in expressions of
gratitude for his proposed assistance; was, however, deeply concerned
that it was now, unfortunately, not in Edward's power exactly to
comply with the plan which had been chalked out by his best friend and
benefactor. He himself had thought with pain on the boy's inactivity, at
an age when all his ancestors had borne arms; even Royalty itself had
deigned to inquire whether young Waverley was not now in Flanders,
at an age when his grandfather was already bleeding for his king in the
Great Civil War. This was accompanied by an offer of a troop of horse.
What could he do? There was no time to consult his brother's
inclinations, even if he could have conceived there might be objections
on his part to his nephew's following the glorious career of his
predecessors. And, in short, that Edward was now (the intermediate
steps of cornet and lieutenant being overleapt with great agility)
Captain Waverley, of Gardiner's regiment of dragoons, which he must
join in their quarters at Dundee in Scotland, in the course of a month.
Sir Everard Waverley received this intimation with a mixture of
feelings. At the period of the Hanoverian succession he had withdrawn
from parliament, and his conduct in the memorable year 1715 had not
been altogether unsuspected. There were reports of private musters of
tenants and horses in Waverley-Chase by moonlight, and of cases of
carbines and pistols purchased in Holland, and addressed to the Baronet,
but intercepted by the vigilance of a riding officer of the excise, who
was afterwards tossed in a blanket on a moonless night, by an
association of stout yeomen, for his officiousness. Nay, it was even said,
that at the arrest of Sir William Wyndham, the leader of the Tory party,
a letter from Sir Everard was found in the pocket of his night-gown.
But there was no overt act which an attainder could be founded on, and
government, contented with suppressing the insurrection of 1715, felt it
neither prudent nor safe to push their vengeance farther than against
those unfortunate gentlemen who actually took up arms.
Nor did Sir Everard's apprehensions of personal consequences seem to
correspond with the reports spread among his Whig neighbours. It was
well known that he had supplied with money several of the distressed
Northumbrians and Scotchmen, who, after being made prisoners at
Preston in Lancashire, were imprisoned in Newgate and the Marshalsea,
and it was his solicitor and ordinary counsel who conducted the defence
of some of these unfortunate gentlemen at their trial. It was generally
supposed, however, that, had ministers possessed any real proof of Sir
Everard's accession to the rebellion, he either would not have ventured
thus to brave the existing government, or at least would not have done
so with impunity. The feelings which then dictated his proceedings
were those of a young man, and at an agitating period. Since that time
Sir Everard's Jacobitism had been gradually decaying, like a fire which
burns out for want of fuel. His Tory and High-Church principles were
kept up by some occasional exercise at elections and quarter-sessions;
but those respecting hereditary right were fallen into a sort of abeyance.
Yet it jarred severely upon his feelings, that his nephew should go into
the army under the Brunswick dynasty; and the more so, as,
independent of his high and conscientious ideas of paternal authority, it
was impossible, or at least highly imprudent, to interfere authoritatively
to prevent it. This suppressed vexation gave rise to many poohs and
pshaws which were placed to the account of an incipient fit of gout,
until, having sent for the Army List, the worthy Baronet consoled
himself with reckoning the descendants of the houses of genuine
loyalty, Mordaunts, Granvilles, and Stanleys, whose names were to be
found in that military record; and, calling up all his feelings of family
grandeur and warlike glory, he concluded, with logic something like
Falstaff's, that when war was at hand, although it were shame to be on
any side but one, it were worse shame to be idle than to be on the worst
side, though blacker than usurpation could make it. As for Aunt Rachel,
her scheme had not exactly terminated according to her wishes, but she
was under the necessity of submitting to circumstances; and her
mortification was diverted by the employment she found in fitting out
her nephew for the campaign, and greatly consoled by the prospect of
beholding him blaze in complete uniform. Edward Waverley himself
received with animated and undefined surprise this most unexpected
intelligence. It was, as a fine old poem expresses it, 'like a fire to
heather set,' that covers a solitary hill with smoke, and illumines it at
the same time with dusky fire. His tutor, or, I should say, Mr.
Pembroke, for he scarce assumed the name of tutor, picked up about
Edward's room some fragments of irregular verse, which he appeared
to have composed under the influence of the agitating feelings
occasioned by this sudden page being turned up to him in the book of
life. The doctor, who was a believer in all poetry which was composed
by his friends, and written out in fair straight lines, with a capital at the
beginning of each, communicated this treasure to Aunt Rachel, who,
with her spectacles dimmed with tears, transferred them to her
commonplace book, among choice receipts for cookery and medicine,
favourite texts, and portions from High-Church divines, and a few
songs, amatory and Jacobitical, which she had carolled in her younger
days, from whence her nephew's poetical tentamina were extracted
when the volume itself, with other authentic records of the Waverley
family, were exposed to the inspection of the unworthy editor of this
memorable history. If they afford the reader no higher amusement, they
will serve, at least, better than narrative of any kind, to acquaint him
with the wild and irregular spirit of our hero:-Late, when the Autumn evening fell On Mirkwood-Mere's romantic
dell, The lake return'd, in chasten'd gleam, The purple cloud, the golden
beam: Reflected in the crystal pool, Headland and bank lay fair and
cool; The weather-tinted rock and tower, Each drooping tree, each fairy
flower, So true, so soft, the mirror gave, As if there lay beneath the
wave, Secure from trouble, toil, and care, A world than earthly world
more fair.
But distant winds began to wake, And roused the Genius of the Lake!
He heard the groaning of the oak, And donn'd at once his sable cloak,
As warrior, at the battle-cry, Invests him with his panoply: Then, as the
whirlwind nearer press'd He 'gan to shake his foamy crest O'er furrow'd
brow and blacken'd cheek, And bade his surge in thunder speak. In wild
and broken eddies whirl'd. Flitted that fond ideal world, And to the
shore in tumult tost The realms of fairy bliss were lost.
Yet, with a stern delight and strange, I saw the spirit-stirring change,
As warr'd the wind with wave and wood, Upon the ruin'd tower I stood,
And felt my heart more strongly bound, Responsive to the lofty sound,
While, joying in the mighty roar, I mourn'd that tranquil scene no more.
So, on the idle dreams of youth, Breaks the loud trumpet-call of truth,
Bids each fair vision pass away, Like landscape on the lake that lay, As
fair, as flitting, and as frail, As that which fled the Autumn gale.--For
ever dead to fancy's eye Be each gay form that glided by, While dreams
of love and lady's charms Give place to honour and to arms!
In sober prose, as perhaps these verses intimate less decidedly, the
transient idea of Miss Cecilia Stubbs passed from Captain Waverley's
heart amid the turmoil which his new destinies excited. She appeared,
indeed, in full splendour in her father's pew upon the Sunday when he
attended service for the last time at the old parish church, upon which
occasion, at the request of his uncle and Aunt Rachel, he was induced
(nothing both, if the truth must be told) to present himself in full
uniform.
There is no better antidote against entertaining too high an opinion of
others than having an excellent one of ourselves at the very same time.
Miss Stubbs had indeed summoned up every assistance which art could
afford to beauty; but, alas! hoop, patches, frizzled locks, and a new
mantua of genuine French silk, were lost upon a young officer of
dragoons who wore for the first time his gold-laced hat, jack-boots, and
broadsword. I know not whether, like the champion of an old ballad,-His heart was all on honour bent, He could not stoop to love; No lady
in the land had power His frozen heart to move;
or whether the deep and flaming bars of embroidered gold, which now
fenced his breast, defied the artillery of Cecilia's eyes; but every arrow
was launched at him in vain.
Yet did I mark where Cupid's shaft did light; It lighted not on little
western flower, But on bold yeoman, flower of all the west, Hight
Jonas Culbertfield, the steward's son.
Craving pardon for my heroics (which I am unable in certain cases to
resist giving way to), it is a melancholy fact, that my history must here
take leave of the fair Cecilia, who, like many a daughter of Eve, after
the departure of Edward, and the dissipation of certain idle visions
which she had adopted, quietly contented herself with a pisaller, and
gave her hand, at the distance of six months, to the aforesaid Jonas, son
of the Baronet's steward, and heir (no unfertile prospect) to a steward's
fortune, besides the snug probability of succeeding to his father's office.
All these advantages moved Squire Stubbs, as much as the ruddy
brown and manly form of the suitor influenced his daughter, to abate
somewhat in the article of their gentry; and so the match was concluded.
None seemed more gratified than Aunt Rachel, who had hitherto
looked rather askance upon the presumptuous damsel (as much so,
peradventure, as her nature would permit), but who, on the first
appearance of the new-married pair at church, honoured the bride with
a smile and a profound curtsy, in presence of the rector, the curate, the
clerk, and the whole congregation of the united parishes of Waverley
cum Beverley.
I beg pardon, once and for all, of those readers who take up novels
merely for amusement, for plaguing them so long with old-fashioned
politics, and Whig and Tory, and Hanoverians and Jacobites. The truth
is, I cannot promise them that this story shall be intelligible, not to say
probable, without it. My plan requires that I should explain the motives
on which its action proceeded; and these motives necessarily arose
from the feelings, prejudices, and parties of the times. I do not invite
my fair readers, whose sex and impatience give them the greatest right
to complain of these circumstances, into a flying chariot drawn by
hippogriffs, or moved by enchantment. Mine is a humble English
post-chaise, drawn upon four wheels, and keeping his Majesty's
highway. Such as dislike the vehicle may leave it at the next halt, and
wait for the conveyance of Prince Hussein's tapestry, or Malek the
Weaver's flying sentrybox. Those who are contented to remain with me
will be occasionally exposed to the dulness inseparable from heavy
roads, steep hills, sloughs, and other terrestrial retardations; but with
tolerable horses and a civil driver (as the advertisements have it), I
engage to get as soon as possible into a more picturesque and romantic
country, if my passengers incline to have some patience with me during
my first stages. [Footnote: These Introductory Chapters have been a
good deal censured as tedious and unnecessary. Yet there are
circumstances recorded in them which the author has not been able to
persuade himself to retrench or cancel.]
CHAPTER IV
THE ADIEUS OF WAVERLEY
It was upon the evening of this memorable Sunday that Sir Everard
entered the library, where he narrowly missed surprising our young
hero as he went through the guards of the broadsword with the ancient
weapon of old Sir Hildebrand, which, being preserved as an heirloom,
usually hung over the chimney in the library, beneath a picture of the
knight and his horse, where the features were almost entirely hidden by
the knight's profusion of curled hair, and the Bucephalus which he
bestrode concealed by the voluminous robes of the Bath with which he
was decorated. Sir Everard entered, and after a glance at the picture and
another at his nephew, began a little speech, which, however, soon
dropt into the natural simplicity of his common manner, agitated upon
the present occasion by no common feeling. 'Nephew,' he said; and
then, as mending his phrase, 'My dear Edward, it is God's will, and also
the will of your father, whom, under God, it is your duty to obey, that
you should leave us to take up the profession of arms, in which so
many of your ancestors have been distinguished. I have made such
arrangements as will enable you to take the field as their descendant,
and as the probable heir of the house of Waverley; and, sir, in the field
of battle you will remember what name you bear. And, Edward, my
dear boy, remember also that you are the last of that race, and the only
hope of its revival depends upon you; therefore, as far as duty and
honour will permit, avoid danger--I mean unnecessary danger--and
keep no company with rakes, gamblers, and Whigs, of whom, it is to be
feared, there are but too many in the service into which you are going.
Your colonel, as I am informed, is an excellent man--for a Presbyterian;
but you will remember your duty to God, the Church of England, and
the--' (this breach ought to have been supplied, according to the rubric,
with the word KING; but as, unfortunately, that word conveyed a
double and embarrassing sense, one meaning de facto and the other de
jure, the knight filled up the blank otherwise)--'the Church of England,
and all constituted authorities.' Then, not trusting himself with any
further oratory, he carried his nephew to his stables to see the horses
destined for his campaign. Two were black (the regimental colour),
superb chargers both; the other three were stout active hacks, designed
for the road, or for his domestics, of whom two were to attend him
from the Hall; an additional groom, if necessary, might be picked up in
Scotland.
'You will depart with but a small retinue,' quoth the Baronet, 'compared
to Sir Hildebrand, when he mustered before the gate of the Hall a larger
body of horse than your whole regiment consists of. I could have
wished that these twenty young fellows from my estate, who have
enlisted in your troop, had been to march with you on your journey to
Scotland. It would have been something, at least; but I am told their
attendance would be thought unusual in these days, when every new
and foolish fashion is introduced to break the natural dependence of the
people upon their landlords.'
Sir Everard had done his best to correct this unnatural disposition of the
times; for he had brightened the chain of attachment between the
recruits and their young captain, not only by a copious repast of beef
and ale, by way of parting feast, but by such a pecuniary donation to
each individual as tended rather to improve the conviviality than the
discipline of their march. After inspecting the cavalry, Sir Everard
again conducted his nephew to the library, where he produced a letter,
carefully folded, surrounded by a little stripe of flox-silk, according to
ancient form, and sealed with an accurate impression of the Waverley
coat-of-arms. It was addressed, with great formality, 'To Cosmo
Comyne Bradwardine, Esq., of Bradwardine, at his principal mansion
of Tully-Veolan, in Perthshire, North Britain. These--By the hands of
Captain Edward Waverley, nephew of Sir Everard Waverley, of
Waverley-Honour, Bart.'
The gentleman to whom this enormous greeting was addressed, of
whom we shall have more to say in the sequel, had been in arms for the
exiled family of Stuart in the year 1715, and was made prisoner at
Preston in Lancashire. He was of a very ancient family, and somewhat
embarrassed fortune; a scholar, according to the scholarship of
Scotchmen, that is, his learning was more diffuse than accurate, and he
was rather a reader than a grammarian. Of his zeal for the classic
authors he is said to have given an uncommon instance. On the road
between Preston and London, he made his escape from his guards; but
being afterwards found loitering near the place where they had lodged
the former night, he was recognised, and again arrested. His
companions, and even his escort, were surprised at his infatuation, and
could not help inquiring, why, being once at liberty, he had not made
the best of his way to a place of safety; to which he replied, that he had
intended to do so, but, in good faith, he had returned to seek his Titus
Livius, which he had forgot in the hurry of his escape. [Footnote: See
Note 3.] The simplicity of this anecdote struck the gentleman, who, as
we before observed, had managed the defence of some of those
unfortunate persons, at the expense of Sir Everard, and perhaps some
others of the party. He was, besides, himself a special admirer of the
old Patavinian, and though probably his own zeal might not have
carried him such extravagant lengths, even to recover the edition of
Sweynheim and Pannartz (supposed to be the princeps), he did not the
less estimate the devotion of the North Briton, and in consequence
exerted himself to so much purpose to remove and soften evidence,
detect legal flaws, et cetera, that he accomplished the final discharge
and deliverance of Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine from certain very
awkward consequences of a plea before our sovereign lord the king in
Westminster.
The Baron of Bradwardine, for he was generally so called in Scotland
(although his intimates, from his place of residence, used to denominate
him Tully-Veolan, or more familiarly, Tully), no sooner stood rectus in
curia than he posted down to pay his respects and make his
acknowledgments at Waverley-Honour. A congenial passion for
field-sports, and a general coincidence in political opinions, cemented
his friendship with Sir Everard, notwithstanding the difference of their
habits and studies in other particulars; and, having spent several weeks
at Waverley-Honour, the Baron departed with many expressions of
regard, warmly pressing the Baronet to return his visit, and partake of
the diversion of grouse-shooting, upon his moors in Perthshire next
season. Shortly after, Mr. Bradwardine remitted from Scotland a sum in
reimbursement of expenses incurred in the King's High Court of
Westminster, which, although not quite so formidable when reduced to
the English denomination, had, in its original form of Scotch pounds,
shillings, and pence, such a formidable effect upon the frame of
Duncan Macwheeble, the laird's confidential factor, baron-bailie, and
man of resource, that he had a fit of the cholic, which lasted for five
days, occasioned, he said, solely and utterly by becoming the unhappy
instrument of conveying such a serious sum of money out of his native
country into the hands of the false English. But patriotism, as it is the
fairest, so it is often the most suspicious mask of other feelings; and
many who knew Bailie Macwheeble concluded that his professions of
regret were not altogether disinterested, and that he would have
grudged the moneys paid to the LOONS at Westminster much less had
they not come from Bradwardine estate, a fund which he considered as
more particularly his own. But the Bailie protested he was absolutely
disinterested-'Woe, woe, for Scotland, not a whit for me!'
The laird was only rejoiced that his worthy friend, Sir Everard
Waverley of Waverley-Honour, was reimbursed of the expenditure
which he had outlaid on account of the house of Bradwardine. It
concerned, he said, the credit of his own family, and of the kingdom of
Scotland at large, that these disbursements should be repaid forthwith,
and, if delayed, it would be a matter of national reproach. Sir Everard,
accustomed to treat much larger sums with indifference, received the
remittance of L294, 13S. 6D. without being aware that the payment
was an international concern, and, indeed, would probably have forgot
the circumstance altogether, if Bailie Macwheeble had thought of
comforting his cholic by intercepting the subsidy. A yearly intercourse
took place, of a short letter and a hamper or a cask or two, between
Waverley-Honour and Tully-Veolan, the English exports consisting of
mighty cheeses and mightier ale, pheasants, and venison, and the
Scottish returns being vested in grouse, white hares, pickled salmon,
and usquebaugh; all which were meant, sent, and received as pledges of
constant friendship and amity between two important houses. It
followed as a matter of course, that the heir-apparent of
Waverley-Honour could not with propriety visit Scotland without being
furnished with credentials to the Baron of Bradwardine.
When this matter was explained and settled, Mr. Pembroke expressed
his wish to take a private and particular leave of his dear pupil. The
good man's exhortations to Edward to preserve an unblemished life and
morals, to hold fast the principles of the Christian religion, and to
eschew the profane company of scoffers and latitudinarians, too much
abounding in the army, were not unmingled with his political
prejudices. It had pleased Heaven, he said, to place Scotland (doubtless
for the sins of their ancestors in 1642) in a more deplorable state of
darkness than even this unhappy kingdom of England. Here, at least,
although the candlestick of the Church of England had been in some
degree removed from its place, it yet afforded a glimmering light; there
was a hierarchy, though schismatical, and fallen from the principles
maintained by those great fathers of the church, Sancroft and his
brethren; there was a liturgy, though woefully perverted in some of the
principal petitions. But in Scotland it was utter darkness; and, excepting
a sorrowful, scattered, and persecuted remnant, the pulpits were
abandoned to Presbyterians, and, he feared, to sectaries of every
description. It should be his duty to fortify his dear pupil to resist such
unhallowed and pernicious doctrines in church and state as must
necessarily be forced at times upon his unwilling ears.
Here he produced two immense folded packets, which appeared each to
contain a whole ream of closely written manuscript. They had been the
labour of the worthy man's whole life; and never were labour and zeal
more absurdly wasted. He had at one time gone to London, with the
intention of giving them to the world, by the medium of a bookseller in
Little Britain, well known to deal in such commodities, and to whom he
was instructed to address himself in a particular phrase and with a
certain sign, which, it seems, passed at that time current among the
initiated Jacobites. The moment Mr. Pembroke had uttered the
Shibboleth, with the appropriate gesture, the bibliopolist greeted him,
notwithstanding every disclamation, by the title of Doctor, and
conveying him into his back shop, after inspecting every possible and
impossible place of concealment, he commenced: 'Eh,
Doctor!--Well--all under the rose--snug--I keep no holes here even for
a Hanoverian rat to hide in. And, what--eh! any good news from our
friends over the water?--and how does the worthy King of France?--Or
perhaps you are more lately from Rome? it must be Rome will do it at
last--the church must light its candle at the old lamp.--Eh--what,
cautious? I like you the better; but no fear.' Here Mr. Pembroke with
some difficulty stopt a torrent of interrogations, eked out with signs,
nods, and winks; and, having at length convinced the bookseller that he
did him too much honour in supposing him an emissary of exiled
royalty, he explained his actual business.
The man of books with a much more composed air proceeded to
examine the manuscripts. The title of the first was 'A Dissent from
Dissenters, or the Comprehension confuted; showing the Impossibility
of any Composition between the Church and Puritans, Presbyterians, or
Sectaries of any Description; illustrated from the Scriptures, the Fathers
of the Church, and the soundest Controversial Divines.' To this work
the bookseller positively demurred. 'Well meant,' he said, 'and learned,
doubtless; but the time had gone by. Printed on small-pica it would run
to eight hundred pages, and could never pay. Begged therefore to be
excused. Loved and honoured the true church from his soul, and, had it
been a sermon on the martyrdom, or any twelve-penny touch--why, I
would venture something for the honour of the cloth. But come, let's
see the other. "Right Hereditary righted!"--Ah! there's some sense in
this. Hum--hum--hum--pages so many, paper so much,
letter-press--Ah--I'll tell you, though, Doctor, you must knock out some
of the Latin and Greek; heavy, Doctor, damn'd heavy--(beg your
pardon) and if you throw in a few grains more pepper--I am he that
never preached my author. I have published for Drake and Charlwood
Lawton, and poor Amhurst [Footnote: See Note 4.]--Ah, Caleb! Caleb!
Well, it was a shame to let poor Caleb starve, and so many fat rectors
and squires among us. I gave him a dinner once a week; but, Lord love
you, what's once a week, when a man does not know where to go the
other six days? Well, but I must show the manuscript to little Tom
Alibi the solicitor, who manages all my law affairs--must keep on the
windy side; the mob were very uncivil the last time I mounted in Old
Palace Yard--all Whigs and Roundheads every man of them,
Williamites and Hanover rats.'
The next day Mr. Pembroke again called on the publisher, but found
Tom Alibi's advice had determined him against undertaking the work.
'Not but what I would go to--(what was I going to say?) to the
Plantations for the church with pleasure--but, dear Doctor, I have a wife
and family; but, to show my zeal, I'll recommend the job to my
neighbour Trimmel--he is a bachelor, and leaving off business, so a
voyage in a western barge would not inconvenience him.' But Mr.
Trimmel was also obdurate, and Mr. Pembroke, fortunately perchance
for himself, was compelled to return to Waverley-Honour with his
treatise in vindication of the real fundamental principles of church and
state safely packed in his saddle-bags.
As the public were thus likely to be deprived of the benefit arising from
his lucubrations by the selfish cowardice of the trade, Mr. Pembroke
resolved to make two copies of these tremendous manuscripts for the
use of his pupil. He felt that he had been indolent as a tutor, and,
besides, his conscience checked him for complying with the request of
Mr. Richard Waverley, that he would impress no sentiments upon
Edward's mind inconsistent with the present settlement in church and
state. But now, thought he, I may, without breach of my word, since he
is no longer under my tuition, afford the youth the means of judging for
himself, and have only to dread his reproaches for so long concealing
the light which the perusal will flash upon his mind. While he thus
indulged the reveries of an author and a politician, his darling proselyte,
seeing nothing very inviting in the title of the tracts, and appalled by
the bulk and compact lines of the manuscript, quietly consigned them
to a corner of his travelling trunk.
Aunt Rachel's farewell was brief and affectionate. She only cautioned
her dear Edward, whom she probably deemed somewhat susceptible,
against the fascination of Scottish beauty. She allowed that the northern
part of the island contained some ancient families, but they were all
Whigs and Presbyterians except the Highlanders; and respecting them
she must needs say, there could be no great delicacy among the ladies,
where the gentlemen's usual attire was, as she had been assured, to say
the least, very singular, and not at all decorous. She concluded her
farewell with a kind and moving benediction, and gave the young
officer, as a pledge of her regard, a valuable diamond ring (often worn
by the male sex at that time), and a purse of broad gold-pieces, which
also were more common Sixty Years Since than they have been of late.
CHAPTER VII
A HORSE-QUARTER IN SCOTLAND
The next morning, amid varied feelings, the chief of which was a
predominant, anxious, and even solemn impression, that he was now in
a great measure abandoned to his own guidance and direction, Edward
Waverley departed from the Hall amid the blessings and tears of all the
old domestics and the inhabitants of the village, mingled with some sly
petitions for sergeantcies and corporalships, and so forth, on the part of
those who professed that 'they never thoft to ha' seen Jacob, and Giles,
and Jonathan go off for soldiers, save to attend his honour, as in duty
bound.' Edward, as in duty bound, extricated himself from the
supplicants with the pledge of fewer promises than might have been
expected from a young man so little accustomed to the world. After a
short visit to London, he proceeded on horseback, then the general
mode of travelling, to Edinburgh, and from thence to Dundee, a seaport
on the eastern coast of Angus-shire, where his regiment was then
quartered.
He now entered upon a new world, where, for a time, all was beautiful
because all was new. Colonel Gardiner, the commanding officer of the
regiment, was himself a study for a romantic, and at the same time an
inquisitive youth. In person he was tall, handsome, and active, though
somewhat advanced in life. In his early years he had been what is
called, by manner of palliative, a very gay young man, and strange
stories were circulated about his sudden conversion from doubt, if not
infidelity, to a serious and even enthusiastic turn of mind. It was
whispered that a supernatural communication, of a nature obvious even
to the exterior senses, had produced this wonderful change; and though
some mentioned the proselyte as an enthusiast, none hinted at his being
a hypocrite. This singular and mystical circumstance gave Colonel
Gardiner a peculiar and solemn interest in the eyes of the young soldier.
[Footnote: See Note 5.] It may be easily imagined that the officers, of a
regiment commanded by so respectable a person composed a society
more sedate and orderly than a military mess always exhibits; and that
Waverley escaped some temptations to which he might otherwise have
been exposed.
Meanwhile his military education proceeded. Already a good horseman,
he was now initiated into the arts of the manege, which, when carried to
perfection, almost realise the fable of the Centaur, the guidance of the
horse appearing to proceed from the rider's mere volition, rather than
from the use of any external and apparent signal of motion. He received
also instructions in his field duty; but I must own, that when his first
ardour was past, his progress fell short in the latter particular of what he
wished and expected. The duty of an officer, the most imposing of all
others to the inexperienced mind, because accompanied with so much
outward pomp and circumstance, is in its essence a very dry and
abstract task, depending chiefly upon arithmetical combinations,
requiring much attention, and a cool and reasoning head to bring them
into action. Our hero was liable to fits of absence, in which his blunders
excited some mirth, and called down some reproof. This circumstance
impressed him with a painful sense of inferiority in those qualities
which appeared most to deserve and obtain regard in his new
profession. He asked himself in vain, why his eye could not judge of
distance or space so well as those of his companions; why his head was
not always successful in disentangling the various partial movements
necessary to execute a particular evolution; and why his memory, so
alert upon most occasions, did not correctly retain technical phrases and
minute points of etiquette or field discipline. Waverley was naturally
modest, and therefore did not fall into the egregious mistake of
supposing such minuter rules of military duty beneath his notice, or
conceiting himself to be born a general, because he made an indifferent
subaltern. The truth was, that the vague and unsatisfactory course of
reading which he had pursued, working upon a temper naturally retired
and abstracted, had given him that wavering and unsettled habit of
mind which is most averse to study and riveted attention. Time, in the
mean while, hung heavy on his hands. The gentry of the neighbourhood
were disaffected, and showed little hospitality to the military guests;
and the people of the town, chiefly engaged in mercantile pursuits,
were not such as Waverley chose to associate with. The arrival of
summer, and a curiosity to know something more of Scotland than he
could see in a ride from his quarters, determined him to request leave of
absence for a few weeks. He resolved first to visit his uncle's ancient
friend and correspondent, with the purpose of extending or shortening
the time of his residence according to circumstances. He travelled of
course on horse-back, and with a single attendant, and passed his first
night at a miserable inn, where the landlady had neither shoes nor
stockings, and the landlord, who called himself a gentleman, was
disposed to be rude to his guest, because he had not bespoke the
pleasure of his society to supper. [Footnote: See Note 6.] The next day,
traversing an open and uninclosed country, Edward gradually
approached the Highlands of Perthshire, which at first had appeared a
blue outline in the horizon, but now swelled into huge gigantic masses,
which frowned defiance over the more level country that lay beneath
them. Near the bottom of this stupendous barrier, but still in the
Lowland country, dwelt Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine of Bradwardine;
and, if grey-haired eld can be in aught believed, there had dwelt his
ancestors, with all their heritage, since the days of the gracious King
Duncan.
CHAPTER VIII
A SCOTTISH MANOR-HOUSE SIXTY YEARS SINCE
It was about noon when Captain Waverley entered the straggling
village, or rather hamlet, of Tully-Veolan, close to which was situated
the mansion of the proprietor. The houses seemed miserable in the
extreme, especially to an eye accustomed to the smiling neatness of
English cottages. They stood, without any respect for regularity, on
each side of a straggling kind of unpaved street, where children, almost
in a primitive state of nakedness, lay sprawling, as if to be crushed by
the hoofs of the first passing horse. Occasionally, indeed, when such a
consummation seemed inevitable, a watchful old grandam, with her
close cap, distaff, and spindle, rushed like a sibyl in frenzy out of one
of these miserable cells, dashed into the middle of the path, and
snatching up her own charge from among the sunburnt loiterers, saluted
him with a sound cuff, and transported him back to his dungeon, the
little white-headed varlet screaming all the while, from the very top of
his lungs, a shrilly treble to the growling remonstrances of the enraged
matron. Another part in this concert was sustained by the incessant
yelping of a score of idle useless curs, which followed, snarling,
barking, howling, and snapping at the horses' heels; a nuisance at that
time so common in Scotland, that a French tourist, who, like other
travellers, longed to find a good and rational reason for everything he
saw, has recorded, as one of the memorabilia of Caledonia, that the
state maintained, in each village a relay of curs, called collies, whose
duty it was to chase the chevaux de poste (too starved and exhausted to
move without such a stimulus) from one hamlet to another, till their
annoying convoy drove them to the end of their stage. The evil and
remedy (such as it is) still exist.--But this is remote from our present
purpose, and is only thrown out for consideration of the collectors
under Mr. Dent's Dog Bill.
As Waverley moved on, here and there an old man, bent as much by
toil as years, his eyes bleared with age and smoke, tottered to the door
of his hut, to gaze on the dress of the stranger and the form and motions
of the horses, and then assembled, with his neighbours, in a little group
at the smithy, to discuss the probabilities of whence the stranger came
and where he might be going. Three or four village girls, returning
from the well or brook with pitchers and pails upon their heads, formed
more pleasing objects, and, with their thin short-gowns and single
petticoats, bare arms, legs, and feet, uncovered heads and braided hair,
somewhat resembled Italian forms of landscape. Nor could a lover of
the picturesque have challenged either the elegance of their costume or
the symmetry of their shape; although, to say the truth, a mere
Englishman in search of the COMFORTABLE, a word peculiar to his
native tongue, might have wished the clothes less scanty, the feet and
legs somewhat protected from the weather, the head and complexion
shrouded from the sun, or perhaps might even have thought the whole
person and dress considerably improved by a plentiful application of
spring water, with a quantum sufficit of soap. The whole scene was
depressing; for it argued, at the first glance, at least a stagnation of
industry, and perhaps of intellect. Even curiosity, the busiest passion of
the idle, seemed of a listless cast in the village of Tully-Veolan: the
curs aforesaid alone showed any part of its activity; with the villagers it
was passive. They stood, and gazed at the handsome young officer and
his attendant, but without any of those quick motions and eager looks
that indicate the earnestness with which those who live in monotonous
ease at home look out for amusement abroad. Yet the physiognomy of
the people, when more closely examined, was far from exhibiting the
indifference of stupidity; their features were rough, but remarkably
intelligent; grave, but the very reverse of stupid; and from among the
young women an artist might have chosen more than one model whose
features and form resembled those of Minerva. The children also,
whose skins were burnt black, and whose hair was bleached white, by
the influence of the sun, had a look and manner of life and interest. It
seemed, upon the whole, as if poverty, and indolence, its too frequent
companion, were combining to depress the natural genius and acquired
information of a hardy, intelligent, and reflecting peasantry.
Some such thoughts crossed Waverley's mind as he paced his horse
slowly through the rugged and flinty street of Tully-Veolan, interrupted
only in his meditations by the occasional caprioles which his charger
exhibited at the reiterated assaults of those canine Cossacks, the collies
before mentioned. The village was more than half a mile long, the
cottages being irregularly divided from each other by gardens, or yards,
as the inhabitants called them, of different sizes, where (for it is Sixty
Years Since) the now universal potato was unknown, but which were
stored with gigantic plants of kale or colewort, encircled with groves of
nettles, and exhibited here and there a huge hemlock, or the national
thistle, overshadowing a quarter of the petty inclosure. The broken
ground on which the village was built had never been levelled; so that
these inclosures presented declivities of every degree, here rising like
terraces, there sinking like tan-pits. The dry-stone walls which fenced,
or seemed to fence (for they were sorely breached), these hanging
gardens of Tully-Veolan were intersected by a narrow lane leading to
the common field, where the joint labour of the villagers cultivated
alternate ridges and patches of rye, oats, barley, and pease, each of such
minute extent that at a little distance the unprofitable variety of the
surface resembled a tailor's book of patterns. In a few favoured
instances, there appeared behind the cottages a miserable wigwam,
compiled of earth, loose stones, and turf, where the wealthy might
perhaps shelter a starved cow or sorely galled horse. But almost every
hut was fenced in front by a huge black stack of turf on one side of the
door, while on the other the family dunghill ascended in noble
emulation.
About a bowshot from the end of the village appeared the inclosures
proudly denominated the Parks of Tully-Veolan, being certain square
fields, surrounded and divided by stone walls five feet in height. In the
centre of the exterior barrier was the upper gate of the avenue, opening
under an archway, battlemented on the top, and adorned with two large
weather-beaten mutilated masses of upright stone, which, if the
tradition of the hamlet could be trusted, had once represented, at least
had been once designed to represent, two rampant Bears, the supporters
of the family of Bradwardine. This avenue was straight and of
moderate length, running between a double row of very ancient
horse-chestnuts, planted alternately with sycamores, which rose to such
huge height, and nourished so luxuriantly, that their boughs completely
over-arched the broad road beneath. Beyond these venerable ranks, and
running parallel to them, were two high walls, of apparently the like
antiquity, overgrown with ivy, honeysuckle, and other climbing plants.
The avenue seemed very little trodden, and chiefly by foot-passengers;
so that being very broad, and enjoying a constant shade, it was clothed
with grass of a deep and rich verdure, excepting where a foot-path,
worn by occasional passengers, tracked with a natural sweep the way
from the upper to the lower gate. This nether portal, like the former,
opened in front of a wall ornamented with some rude sculpture, with
battlements on the top, over which were seen, half-hidden by the trees
of the avenue, the high steep roofs and narrow gables of the mansion,
with lines indented into steps, and corners decorated with small turrets.
One of the folding leaves of the lower gate was open, and as the sun
shone full into the court behind, a long line of brilliancy was flung
upon the aperture up the dark and gloomy avenue. It was one of those
effects which a painter loves to represent, and mingled well with the
struggling light which found its way between the boughs of the shady
arch that vaulted the broad green alley.
The solitude and repose of the whole scene seemed almost monastic;
and Waverley, who had given his horse to his servant on entering the
first gate, walked slowly down the avenue, enjoying the grateful and
cooling shade, and so much pleased with the placid ideas of rest and
seclusion excited by this confined and quiet scene, that he forgot the
misery and dirt of the hamlet he had left behind him. The opening into
the paved court-yard corresponded with the rest of the scene. The house,
which seemed to consist of two or three high, narrow, and steep-roofed
buildings, projecting from each other at right angles, formed one side
of the inclosure. It had been built at a period when castles were no
longer necessary, and when the Scottish architects had not yet acquired
the art of designing a domestic residence. The windows were
numberless, but very small; the roof had some nondescript kind of
projections, called bartizans, and displayed at each frequent angle a
small turret, rather resembling a pepper-box than a Gothic watchtower.
Neither did the front indicate absolute security from danger. There were
loop-holes for musketry, and iron stanchions on the lower windows,
probably to repel any roving band of gypsies, or resist a predatory visit
from the caterans of the neighbouring Highlands. Stables and other
offices occupied another side of the square. The former were low vaults,
with narrow slits instead of windows, resembling, as Edward's groom
observed, 'rather a prison for murderers, and larceners, and such like as
are tried at 'sizes, than a place for any Christian cattle.' Above these
dungeon-looking stables were granaries, called girnels, and other
offices, to which there was access by outside stairs of heavy masonry.
Two battlemented walls, one of which faced the avenue, and the other
divided the court from the garden, completed the inclosure.
Nor was the court without its ornaments. In one corner was a
tun-bellied pigeon-house, of great size and rotundity, resembling in
figure and proportion the curious edifice called Arthur's Oven, which
would have turned the brains of all the antiquaries in England, had not
the worthy proprietor pulled it down for the sake of mending a
neighbouring dam-dyke. This dove-cot, or columbarium, as the owner
called it, was no small resource to a Scottish laird of that period, whose
scanty rents were eked out by the contributions levied upon the farms
by these light foragers, and the conscriptions exacted from the latter for
the benefit of the table.
Another corner of the court displayed a fountain, where a huge bear,
carved in stone, predominated over a large stone-basin, into which he
disgorged the water. This work of art was the wonder of the country ten
miles round. It must not be forgotten, that all sorts of bears, small and
large, demi or in full proportion, were carved over the windows, upon
the ends of the gables, terminated the spouts, and supported the turrets,
with the ancient family motto, 'Beware the Bear', cut under each
hyperborean form. The court was spacious, well paved, and perfectly
clean, there being probably another entrance behind the stables for
removing the litter. Everything around appeared solitary, and would
have been silent, but for the continued plashing of the fountain; and the
whole scene still maintained the monastic illusion which the fancy of
Waverley had conjured up. And here we beg permission to close a
chapter of still life. [Footnote: See Note 7.]
CHAPTER IX
MORE OF THE MANOR-HOUSE AND ITS ENVIRONS
After having satisfied his curiosity by gazing around him for a few
minutes, Waverley applied himself to the massive knocker of the
hall-door, the architrave of which bore the date 1594. But no answer
was returned, though the peal resounded through a number of
apartments, and was echoed from the court-yard walls without the
house, startling the pigeons from the venerable rotunda which they
occupied, and alarming anew even the distant village curs, which had
retired to sleep upon their respective dunghills. Tired of the din which
he created, and the unprofitable responses which it excited, Waverley
began to think that he had reached the castle of Orgoglio as entered by
the victorious Prince Arthur,-When 'gan he loudly through the house to call, But no man cared to
answer to his cry; There reign'd a solemn silence over all, Nor voice
was heard, nor wight was seen in bower or hall.
Filled almost with expectation of beholding some 'old, old man, with
beard as white as snow,' whom he might question concerning this
deserted mansion, our hero turned to a little oaken wicket-door, well
clenched with iron-nails, which opened in the court-yard wall at its
angle with the house. It was only latched, notwithstanding its fortified
appearance, and, when opened, admitted him into the garden, which
presented a pleasant scene. [Footnote: Footnote: At Ravelston may be
seen such a garden, which the taste of the proprietor, the author's friend
and kinsman, Sir Alexander Keith, Knight Mareschal, has judiciously
preserved. That, as well as the house is, however, of smaller
dimensions than the Baron of Bradwardine's mansion and garden are
presumed to have been.] The southern side of the house, clothed with
fruit-trees, and having many evergreens trained upon its walls,
extended its irregular yet venerable front along a terrace, partly paved,
partly gravelled, partly bordered with flowers and choice shrubs. This
elevation descended by three several flights of steps, placed in its
centre and at the extremities, into what might be called the garden
proper, and was fenced along the top by a stone parapet with a heavy
balustrade, ornamented from space to space with huge grotesque
figures of animals seated upon their haunches, among which the
favourite bear was repeatedly introduced. Placed in the middle of the
terrace between a sashed-door opening from the house and the central
flight of steps, a huge animal of the same species supported on his head
and fore-paws a sun-dial of large circumference, inscribed with more
diagrams than Edward's mathematics enabled him to decipher.
The garden, which seemed to be kept with great accuracy, abounded in
fruit-trees, and exhibited a profusion of flowers and evergreens, cut into
grotesque forms. It was laid out in terraces, which descended rank by
rank from the western wall to a large brook, which had a tranquil and
smooth appearance, where it served as a boundary to the garden; but,
near the extremity, leapt in tumult over a strong dam, or wear-head, the
cause of its temporary tranquillity, and there forming a cascade, was
overlooked by an octangular summer-house, with a gilded bear on the
top by way of vane. After this feat, the brook, assuming its natural
rapid and fierce character, escaped from the eye down a deep and
wooded dell, from the copse of which arose a massive, but ruinous
tower, the former habitation of the Barons of Bradwardine. The margin
of the brook, opposite to the garden, displayed a narrow meadow, or
haugh, as it was called, which formed a small washing-green; the bank,
which retired behind it, was covered by ancient trees.
The scene, though pleasing, was not quite equal to the gardens of
Alcina; yet wanted not the 'due donzellette garrule' of that enchanted
paradise, for upon the green aforesaid two bare-legged damsels, each
standing in a spacious tub, performed with their feet the office of a
patent washing-machine. These did not, however, like the maidens of
Armida, remain to greet with their harmony the approaching guest, but,
alarmed at the appearance of a handsome stranger on the opposite side,
dropped their garments (I should say garment, to be quite correct) over
their limbs, which their occupation exposed somewhat too freely, and,
with a shrill exclamation of 'Eh, sirs!' uttered with an accent between
modesty and coquetry, sprung off like deer in different directions.
Waverley began to despair of gaining entrance into this solitary and
seemingly enchanted mansion, when a man advanced up one of the
garden alleys, where he still retained his station. Trusting this might be
a gardener, or some domestic belonging to the house, Edward
descended the steps in order to meet him; but as the figure approached,
and long before he could descry its features, he was struck with the
oddity of its appearance and gestures. Sometimes this mister wight held
his hands clasped over his head, like an Indian Jogue in the attitude of
penance; sometimes he swung them perpendicularly, like a pendulum,
on each side; and anon he slapped them swiftly and repeatedly across
his breast, like the substitute used by a hackney-coachman for his usual
flogging exercise, when his cattle are idle upon the stand, in a clear
frosty day. His gait was as singular as his gestures, for at times he
hopped with great perseverance on the right foot, then exchanged that
supporter to advance in the same manner on the left, and then putting
his feet close together he hopped upon both at once. His attire also was
antiquated and extravagant. It consisted in a sort of grey jerkin, with
scarlet cuffs and slashed sleeves, showing a scarlet lining; the other
parts of the dress corresponded in colour, not forgetting a pair of scarlet
stockings, and a scarlet bonnet, proudly surmounted with a turkey's
feather. Edward, whom he did not seem to observe, now perceived
confirmation in his features of what the mien and gestures had already
announced. It was apparently neither idiocy nor insanity which gave
that wild, unsettled, irregular expression to a face which naturally was
rather handsome, but something that resembled a compound of both,
where the simplicity of the fool was mixed with the extravagance of a
crazed imagination. He sung with great earnestness, and not without
some taste, a fragment of an old Scottish ditty:-False love, and hast thou play'd me this In summer among the flowers?
I will repay thee back again In winter among the showers. Unless again,
again, my love, Unless you turn again; As you with other maidens rove,
I'll smile on other men.
[Footnote: This is a genuine ancient fragment, with some alteration in
the two last lines.]
Here lifting up his eyes, which had hitherto been fixed in observing
how his feet kept time to the tune, he beheld Waverley, and instantly
doffed his cap, with many grotesque signals of surprise, respect, and
salutation. Edward, though with little hope of receiving an answer to
any constant question, requested to know whether Mr. Bradwardine
were at home, or where he could find any of the domestics. The
questioned party replied, and, like the witch of Thalaba, 'still his speech
was song,'-The Knight's to the mountain His bugle to wind; The Lady's to
greenwood Her garland to bind. The bower of Burd Ellen Has moss on
the floor, That the step of Lord William Be silent and sure.
This conveyed no information, and Edward, repeating his queries,
received a rapid answer, in which, from the haste and peculiarity of the
dialect, the word 'butler' was alone intelligible. Waverley then
requested to see the butler; upon which the fellow, with a knowing look
and nod of intelligence, made a signal to Edward to follow, and began
to dance and caper down the alley up which he had made his
approaches. A strange guide this, thought Edward, and not much unlike
one of Shakespeare's roynish clowns. I am not over prudent to trust to
his pilotage; but wiser men have been led by fools. By this time he
reached the bottom of the alley, where, turning short on a little parterre
of flowers, shrouded from the east and north by a close yew hedge, he
found an old man at work without his coat, whose appearance hovered
between that of an upper servant and gardener; his red nose and ruffled
shirt belonging to the former profession; his hale and sunburnt visage,
with his green apron, appearing to indicate
Old Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden.
The major domo, for such he was, and indisputably the second officer
of state in the barony (nay, as chief minister of the interior, superior
even to Bailie Macwheeble in his own department of the kitchen and
cellar)--the major domo laid down his spade, slipped on his coat in
haste, and with a wrathful look at Edward's guide, probably excited by
his having introduced a stranger while he was engaged in this laborious,
and, as he might suppose it, degrading office, requested to know the
gentleman's commands. Being informed that he wished to pay his
respects to his master, that his name was Waverley, and so forth, the
old man's countenance assumed a great deal of respectful importance.
'He could take it upon his conscience to say, his honour would have
exceeding pleasure in seeing him. Would not Mr. Waverley choose
some refreshment after his journey? His honour was with the folk who
were getting doon the dark hag; the twa gardener lads (an emphasis on
the word twa) had been ordered to attend him; and he had been just
amusing himself in the mean time with dressing Miss Rose's
flower-bed, that he might be near to receive his honour's orders, if need
were; he was very fond of a garden, but had little time for such
divertisements.'
'He canna get it wrought in abune twa days in the week at no rate
whatever,' said Edward's fantastic conductor.
A grim look from the butler chastised his interference, and he
commanded him, by the name of Davie Gellatley, in a tone which
admitted no discussion, to look for his honour at the dark hag, and tell
him there was a gentleman from the south had arrived at the Ha'.
'Can this poor fellow deliver a letter?' asked Edward.
'With all fidelity, sir, to any one whom he respects. I would hardly trust
him with a long message by word of mouth--though he is more knave
than fool.'
Waverley delivered his credentials to Mr. Gellatley, who seemed to
confirm the butler's last observation, by twisting his features at him,
when he was looking another way, into the resemblance of the
grotesque face on the bole of a German tobacco pipe; after which, with
an odd conge to Waverley, he danced off to discharge his errand.
'He is an innocent, sir,' said the butler; 'there is one such in almost
every town in the country, but ours is brought far ben. [Footnote: See
Note 8.] He used to work a day's turn weel enough; but he helped Miss
Rose when she was flemit with the Laird of Killancureit's new English
bull, and since that time we ca' him Davie Do-little; indeed we might
ca' him Davie Do-naething, for since he got that gay clothing, to please
his honour and my young mistress (great folks will have their fancies),
he has done naething but dance up and down about the toun, without
doing a single turn, unless trimming the laird's fishing-wand or busking
his flies, or may be catching a dish of trouts at an orra time. But here
comes Miss Rose, who, I take burden upon me for her, will be especial
glad to see one of the house of Waverley at her father's mansion of
Tully-Veolan.'
But Rose Bradwardine deserves better of her unworthy historian than to
be introduced at the end of a chapter.
In the mean while it may be noticed, that Waverley learned two things
from this colloquy: that in Scotland a single house was called a TOWN,
and a natural fool an INNOCENT.
CHAPTER X
ROSE BRADWARDINE AND HER FATHER
Miss Bradwardine was but seventeen; yet, at the last races of the county
town of----, upon her health being proposed among a round of beauties,
the Laird of Bumperquaigh, permanent toast-master and croupier of the
Bautherwhillery Club, not only said MORE to the pledge in a pint
bumper of Bourdeaux, but, ere pouring forth the libation, denominated
the divinity to whom it was dedicated, 'the Rose of Tully-Veolan'; upon
which festive occasion three cheers were given by all the sitting
members of that respectable society, whose throats the wine had left
capable of such exertion. Nay, I am well assured, that the sleeping
partners of the company snorted applause, and that although strong
bumpers and weak brains had consigned two or three to the floor, yet
even these, fallen as they were from their high estate, and weltering--I
will carry the parody no farther--uttered divers inarticulate sounds,
intimating their assent to the motion.
Such unanimous applause could not be extorted but by acknowledged
merit; and Rose Bradwardine not only deserved it, but also the
approbation of much more rational persons than the Bautherwhillery
Club could have mustered, even before discussion of the first magnum.
She was indeed a very pretty girl of the Scotch cast of beauty, that is,
with a profusion of hair of paley gold, and a skin like the snow of her
own mountains in whiteness. Yet she had not a pallid or pensive cast of
countenance; her features, as well as her temper, had a lively
expression; her complexion, though not florid, was so pure as to seem
transparent, and the slightest emotion sent her whole blood at once to
her face and neck. Her form, though under the common size, was
remarkably elegant, and her motions light, easy, and unembarrassed.
She came from another part of the garden to receive Captain Waverley,
with a manner that hovered between bashfulness and courtesy.
The first greetings past, Edward learned from her that the dark hag,
which had somewhat puzzled him in the butler's account of his master's
avocations, had nothing to do either with a black cat or a broomstick,
but was simply a portion of oak copse which was to be felled that day.
She offered, with diffident civility, to show the stranger the way to the
spot, which, it seems, was not far distant; but they were prevented by
the appearance of the Baron of Bradwardine in person, who, summoned
by David Gellatley, now appeared, 'on hospitable thoughts intent,'
clearing the ground at a prodigious rate with swift and long strides,
which reminded Waverley of the seven-league boots of the nursery
fable. He was a tall, thin, athletic figure, old indeed and grey-haired,
but with every muscle rendered as tough as whip-cord by constant
exercise. He was dressed carelessly, and more like a Frenchman than an
Englishman of the period, while, from his hard features and
perpendicular rigidity of stature, he bore some resemblance to a Swiss
officer of the guards, who had resided some time at Paris, and caught
the costume, but not the ease or manner, of its inhabitants. The truth
was, that his language and habits were as heterogeneous as his external
appearance.
Owing to his natural disposition to study, or perhaps to a very general
Scottish fashion of giving young men of rank a legal education, he had
been bred with a view to the bar. But the politics of his family
precluding the hope of his rising in that profession, Mr. Bradwardine
travelled with high reputation for several years, and made some
campaigns in foreign service. After his demele with the law of high
treason in 1715, he had lived in retirement, conversing almost entirely
with those of his own principles in the vicinage. The pedantry of the
lawyer, superinduced upon the military pride of the soldier, might
remind a modern of the days of the zealous volunteer service, when the
bar-gown of our pleaders was often flung over a blazing uniform. To
this must be added the prejudices of ancient birth and Jacobite politics,
greatly strengthened by habits of solitary and secluded authority, which,
though exercised only within the bounds of his half-cultivated estate,
was there indisputable and undisputed. For, as he used to observe, 'the
lands of Bradwardine, Tully-Veolan, and others, had been erected into
a free barony by a charter from David the First, cum liberali potest.
habendi curias et justicias, cum fossa et furca (LIE, pit and gallows) et
saka et soka, et thol et theam, et infang-thief et outfang-thief, sive
hand-habend, sive bak-barand.' The peculiar meaning of all these
cabalistical words few or none could explain; but they implied, upon
the whole, that the Baron of Bradwardine might, in case of delinquency,
imprison, try, and execute his vassals at his pleasure. Like James the
First, however, the present possessor of this authority was more pleased
in talking about prerogative than in exercising it; and excepting that he
imprisoned two poachers in the dungeon of the old tower of
Tully-Veolan, where they were sorely frightened by ghosts, and almost
eaten by rats, and that he set an old woman in the jougs (or Scottish
pillory) for saying' there were mair fules in the laird's ha' house than
Davie Gellatley,' I do not learn that he was accused of abusing his high
powers. Still, however, the conscious pride of possessing them gave
additional importance to his language and deportment.
At his first address to Waverley, it would seem that the hearty pleasure
he felt to behold the nephew of his friend had somewhat discomposed
the stiff and upright dignity of the Baron of Bradwardine's demeanour,
for the tears stood in the old gentleman's eyes, when, having first
shaken Edward heartily by the hand in the English fashion, he
embraced him a la mode Francoise, and kissed him on both sides of his
face; while the hardness of his gripe, and the quantity of Scotch snuff
which his accolade communicated, called corresponding drops of
moisture to the eyes of his guest.
'Upon the honour of a gentleman,' he said, 'but it makes me young
again to see you here, Mr. Waverley! A worthy scion of the old stock
of Waverley-Honour--spes altera, as Maro hath it--and you have the
look of the old line, Captain Waverley; not so portly yet as my old
friend Sir Everard--mais cela viendra avec le tems, as my Dutch
acquaintance, Baron Kikkitbroeck, said of the sagesse of Madame son
epouse. And so ye have mounted the cockade? Right, right; though I
could have wished the colour different, and so I would ha' deemed
might Sir Everard. But no more of that; I am old, and times are changed.
And how does the worthy knight baronet, and the fair Mrs.
Rachel?--Ah, ye laugh, young man! In troth she was the fair Mrs.
Rachel in the year of grace seventeen hundred and sixteen; but time
passes--et singula praedantur anni--that is most certain. But once again
ye are most heartily welcome to my poor house of Tully-Veolan! Hie to
the house, Rose, and see that Alexander Saunderson looks out the old
Chateau Margaux, which I sent from Bourdeaux to Dundee in the year
1713.'
Rose tripped off demurely enough till she turned the first corner, and
then ran with the speed of a fairy, that she might gain leisure, after
discharging her father's commission, to put her own dress in order, and
produce all her little finery, an occupation for which the approaching
dinner-hour left but limited time.
'We cannot rival the luxuries of your English table, Captain Waverley,
or give you the epulae lautiores of Waverley-Honour. I say epulae
rather than prandium, because the latter phrase is popular: epulae ad
senatum, prandium vero ad populum attinet, says Suetonius Tranquillus.
But I trust ye will applaud my Bourdeaux; c'est des deux oreilles, as
Captain Vinsauf used to say; vinum primae notae, the principal of Saint
Andrews denominated it. And, once more, Captain Waverley, right
glad am I that ye are here to drink the best my cellar can make
forthcoming.'
This speech, with the necessary interjectional answers, continued from
the lower alley where they met up to the door of the house, where four
or five servants in old-fashioned liveries, headed by Alexander
Saunderson, the butler, who now bore no token of the sable stains of
the garden, received them in grand COSTUME,
In an old hall hung round with pikes and with bows, With old bucklers
and corslets that had borne many shrewd blows.
With much ceremony, and still more real kindness, the Baron, without
stopping in any intermediate apartment, conducted his guest through
several into the great dining parlour, wainscotted with black oak, and
hung round with the pictures of his ancestry, where a table was set forth
in form for six persons, and an old-fashioned beaufet displayed all the
ancient and massive plate of the Bradwardine family. A bell was now
heard at the head of the avenue; for an old man, who acted as porter
upon gala days, had caught the alarm given by Waverley's arrival, and,
repairing to his post, announced the arrival of other guests.
These, as the Baron assured his young friend, were very estimable
persons. 'There was the young Laird of Balmawhapple, a Falconer by
surname, of the house of Glenfarquhar, given right much to
field-sports--gaudet equis et canibus--but a very discreet young
gentleman. Then there was the Laird of Killancureit, who had devoted
his leisure UNTILL tillage and agriculture, and boasted himself to be
possessed of a bull of matchless merit, brought from the county of
Devon (the Damnonia of the Romans, if we can trust Robert of
Cirencester). He is, as ye may well suppose from such a tendency, but
of yeoman extraction--servabit odorem testa diu--and I believe,
between ourselves, his grandsire was from the wrong side of the
Border--one Bullsegg, who came hither as a steward, or bailiff, or
ground-officer, or something in that department, to the last Girnigo of
Killancureit, who died of an atrophy. After his master's death, sir,--ye
would hardly believe such a scandal,--but this Bullsegg, being portly
and comely of aspect, intermarried with the lady dowager, who was
young and amorous, and possessed himself of the estate, which
devolved on this unhappy woman by a settlement of her umwhile
husband, in direct contravention of an unrecorded taillie, and to the
prejudice of the disponer's own flesh and blood, in the person of his
natural heir and seventh cousin, Girnigo of Tipperhewit, whose family
was so reduced by the ensuing law-suit, that his representative is now
serving as a private gentleman-sentinel in the Highland Black Watch.
But this gentleman, Mr. Bullsegg of Killancureit that now is, has good
blood in his veins by the mother and grandmother, who were both of
the family of Pickletillim, and he is well liked and looked upon, and
knows his own place. And God forbid, Captain Waverley, that we of
irreproachable lineage should exult over him, when it may be, that in
the eighth, ninth, or tenth generation, his progeny may rank, in a
manner, with the old gentry of the country. Rank and ancestry, sir,
should be the last words in the mouths of us of unblemished race--vix
ea nostra voco, as Naso saith. There is, besides, a clergyman of the true
(though suffering) Episcopal church of Scotland. [Footnote: See Note
9.] He was a confessor in her cause after the year 1715, when a
Whiggish mob destroyed his meeting-house, tore his surplice, and
plundered his dwelling-house of four silver spoons, intromitting also
with his mart and his mealark, and with two barrels, one of single and
one of double ale, besides three bottles of brandy. My baron-bailie and
doer, Mr. Duncan Macwheeble, is the fourth on our list. There is a
question, owing to the incertitude of ancient orthography, whether he
belongs to the clan of Wheedle or of Quibble, but both have produced
persons eminent in the law.'-As such he described them by person and name, They enter'd, and
dinner was served as they came.
CHAPTER XI
THE BANQUET
The entertainment was ample and handsome, according to the Scotch
ideas of the period, and the guests did great honour to it. The Baron eat
like a famished soldier, the Laird of Balmawhapple like a sportsman,
Bullsegg of Killancureit like a farmer, Waverley himself like a traveller,
and Bailie Macwheeble like all four together; though, either out of
more respect, or in order to preserve that proper declination of person
which showed a sense that he was in the presence of his patron, he sat
upon the edge of his chair, placed at three feet distance from the table,
and achieved a communication with his plate by projecting his person
towards it in a line which obliqued from the bottom of his spine, so that
the person who sat opposite to him could only see the foretop of his
riding periwig.
This stooping position might have been inconvenient to another person;
but long habit made it, whether seated or walking, perfectly easy to the
worthy Bailie. In the latter posture it occasioned, no doubt, an
unseemly projection of the person towards those who happened to walk
behind; but those being at all times his inferiors (for Mr. Macwheeble
was very scrupulous in giving place to all others), he cared very little
what inference of contempt or slight regard they might derive from the
circumstance. Hence, when he waddled across the court to and from his
old grey pony, he somewhat resembled a turnspit walking upon its hind
legs.
The nonjuring clergyman was a pensive and interesting old man, with
much of the air of a sufferer for conscience' sake. He was one of those
Who, undeprived, their benefice forsook.
For this whim, when the Baron was out of hearing, the Bailie used
sometimes gently to rally Mr. Rubrick, upbraiding him with the nicety
of his scruples. Indeed, it must be owned, that he himself, though at
heart a keen partisan of the exiled family, had kept pretty fair with all
the different turns of state in his time; so that Davie Gellatley once
described him as a particularly good man, who had a very quiet and
peaceful conscience, THAT NEVER DID HIM ANY HARM.
When the dinner was removed, the Baron announced the health of the
King, politely leaving to the consciences of his guests to drink to the
sovereign de facto or de jure, as their politics inclined. The
conversation now became general; and, shortly afterwards, Miss
Bradwardine, who had done the honours with natural grace and
simplicity, retired, and was soon followed by the clergyman. Among
the rest of the party, the wine, which fully justified the encomiums of
the landlord, flowed freely round, although Waverley, with some
difficulty, obtained the privilege of sometimes neglecting the glass. At
length, as the evening grew more late, the Baron made a private signal
to Mr. Saunders Saunderson, or, as he facetiously denominated him,
Alexander ab Alexandro, who left the room with a nod, and soon after
returned, his grave countenance mantling with a solemn and mysterious
smile, and placed before his master a small oaken casket, mounted with
brass ornaments of curious form. The Baron, drawing out a private key,
unlocked the casket, raised the lid, and produced a golden goblet of a
singular and antique appearance, moulded into the shape of a rampant
bear, which the owner regarded with a look of mingled reverence, pride,
and delight, that irresistibly reminded Waverley of Ben Jonson's Tom
Otter, with his Bull, Horse, and Dog, as that wag wittily denominated
his chief carousing cups. But Mr. Bradwardine, turning towards him
with complacency, requested him to observe this curious relic of the
olden time.
'It represents,' he said, 'the chosen crest of our family, a bear, as ye
observe, and RAMPANT; because a good herald will depict every
animal in its noblest posture, as a horse SALIENT, a greyhound
CURRANT, and, as may be inferred, a ravenous animal in actu
ferociori, or in a voracious, lacerating, and devouring posture. Now, sir,
we hold this most honourable achievement by the wappen-brief, or
concession of arms, of Frederick Red-beard, Emperor of Germany, to
my predecessor, Godmund Bradwardine, it being the crest of a gigantic
Dane, whom he slew in the lists in the Holy Land, on a quarrel
touching the chastity of the emperor's spouse or daughter, tradition
saith not precisely which, and thus, as Virgilius hath it-Mutemus clypeos, Danaumque insignia nobis Aptemus.
Then for the cup, Captain Waverley, it was wrought by the command
of Saint Duthac, Abbot of Aberbrothock, for behoof of another baron of
the house of Bradwardine, who had valiantly defended the patrimony of
that monastery against certain encroaching nobles. It is properly termed
the Blessed Bear of Bradwardine (though old Doctor Doubleit used
jocosely to call it Ursa Major), and was supposed, in old and Catholic
times, to be invested with certain properties of a mystical and
supernatural quality. And though I give not in to such anilia, it is
certain it has always been esteemed a solemn standard cup and
heirloom of our house; nor is it ever used but upon seasons of high
festival, and such I hold to be the arrival of the heir of Sir Everard
under my roof; and I devote this draught to the health and prosperity of
the ancient and highly-to-be-honoured house of Waverley.'
During this long harangue, he carefully decanted a cob-webbed bottle
of claret into the goblet, which held nearly an English pint; and, at the
conclusion, delivering the bottle to the butler, to be held carefully in the
same angle with the horizon, he devoutly quaffed off the contents of the
Blessed Bear of Bradwardine.
Edward, with horror and alarm, beheld the animal making his rounds,
and thought with great anxiety upon the appropriate motto, 'Beware the
Bear'; but, at the same time, plainly foresaw that, as none of the guests
scrupled to do him this extraordinary honour, a refusal on his part to
pledge their courtesy would be extremely ill received. Resolving,
therefore, to submit to this last piece of tyranny, and then to quit the
table, if possible, and confiding in the strength of his constitution, he
did justice to the company in the contents of the Blessed Bear, and felt
less inconvenience from the draught than he could possibly have
expected. The others, whose time had been more actively employed,
began to show symptoms of innovation--'the good wine did its good
office.' [Footnote: Southey's Madoc.] The frost of etiquette and pride of
birth began to give way before the genial blessings of this benign
constellation, and the formal appellatives with which the three
dignitaries had hitherto addressed each other were now familiarly
abbreviated into Tully, Bally, and Killie. When a few rounds had
passed, the two latter, after whispering together, craved permission (a
joyful hearing for Edward) to ask the grace-cup. This, after some delay,
was at length produced, and Waverley concluded the orgies of Bacchus
were terminated for the evening. He was never more mistaken in his
life.
As the guests had left their horses at the small inn, or change-house, as
it was called, of the village, the Baron could not, in politeness, avoid
walking with them up the avenue, and Waverley from the same motive,
and to enjoy after this feverish revel the cool summer evening, attended
the party. But when they arrived at Luckie Macleary's the Lairds of
Balmawhapple and Killancureit declared their determination to
acknowledge their sense of the hospitality of Tully-Veolan by
partaking, with their entertainer and his guest Captain Waverley, what
they technically called deoch an doruis, a stirrup-cup, [Footnote 2: See
Note 10] to the honour of the Baron's roof-tree.
It must be noticed that the Bailie, knowing by experience that the day's
jovialty, which had been hitherto sustained at the expense of his patron,
might terminate partly at his own, had mounted his spavined grey pony,
and, between gaiety of heart and alarm for being hooked into a
reckoning, spurred him into a hobbling canter (a trot was out of the
question), and had already cleared the village. The others entered the
change-house, leading Edward in unresisting submission; for his
landlord whispered him, that to demur to such an overture would be
construed into a high misdemeanour against the leges conviviales, or
regulations of genial compotation. Widow Macleary seemed to have
expected this visit, as well she might, for it was the usual
consummation of merry bouts, not only at Tully-Veolan, but at most
other gentlemen's houses in Scotland, Sixty Years Since. The guests
thereby at once acquitted themselves of their burden of gratitude for
their entertainer's kindness, encouraged the trade of his change-house,
did honour to the place which afforded harbour to their horses, and
indemnified themselves for the previous restraints imposed by private
hospitality, by spending what Falstaff calls the sweet of the night in the
genial license of a tavern.
Accordingly, in full expectation of these distinguished guests, Luckie
Macleary had swept her house for the first time this fortnight, tempered
her turf-fire to such a heat as the season required in her damp hovel
even at Midsummer, set forth her deal table newly washed, propped its
lame foot with a fragment of turf, arranged four or five stools of huge
and clumsy form upon the sites which best suited the inequalities of her
clay floor; and having, moreover, put on her clean toy, rokelay, and
scarlet plaid, gravely awaited the arrival of the company, in full hope of
custom and profit. When they were seated under the sooty rafters of
Luckie Macleary's only apartment, thickly tapestried with cobwebs,
their hostess, who had already taken her cue from the Laird of
Balmawhapple, appeared with a huge pewter measuring-pot, containing
at least three English quarts, familiarly denominated a Tappit Hen, and
which, in the language of the hostess, reamed (i.e., mantled) with
excellent claret just drawn from the cask.
It was soon plain that what crumbs of reason the Bear had not devoured
were to be picked up by the Hen; but the confusion which appeared to
prevail favoured Edward's resolution to evade the gaily circling glass.
The others began to talk thick and at once, each performing his own
part in the conversation without the least respect to his neighbour. The
Baron of Bradwardine sung French chansons-a-boire, and spouted
pieces of Latin; Killancureit talked, in a steady unalterable dull key, of
top-dressing and bottom-dressing, [Footnote: This has been censured as
an anachronism; and it must be confessed that agriculture of this kind
was unknown to the Scotch Sixty Years Since.] and year-olds, and
gimmers, and dinmonts, and stots, and runts, and kyloes, and a
proposed turnpike-act; while Balmawhapple, in notes exalted above
both, extolled his horse, his hawks, and a greyhound called Whistler. In
the middle of this din, the Baron repeatedly implored silence; and when
at length the instinct of polite discipline so far prevailed that for a
moment he obtained it, he hastened to beseech their attention 'unto a
military ariette, which was a particular favourite of the Marechal Duc
de Berwick'; then, imitating, as well as he could, the manner and tone
of a French musquetaire, he immediately commenced,-Mon coeur volage, dit elle, N'est pas pour vous, garcon; Est pour un
homme de guerre, Qui a barbe au menton. Lon, Lon, Laridon.
Qui port chapeau a plume, Soulier a rouge talon, Qui joue de la flute,
Aussi du violon. Lon, Lon, Laridon.
Balmawhapple could hold no longer, but broke in with what he called a
d--d good song, composed by Gibby Gaethroughwi't, the piper of
Cupar; and, without wasting more time, struck up,-It's up Glenbarchan's braes I gaed, And o'er the bent of Killiebraid, And
mony a weary cast I made, To cuittle the moor-fowl's tail.
[Footnote: Suum cuique. This snatch of a ballad was composed by
Andrew MacDonald, the ingenious and unfortunate author of
Vimonda.]
The Baron, whose voice was drowned in the louder and more
obstreperous strains of Balmawhapple, now dropped the competition,
but continued to hum 'Lon, Lon, Laridon,' and to regard the successful
candidate for the attention of the company with an eye of disdain, while
Balmawhapple proceeded,-If up a bonny black-cock should spring, To whistle him down wi' a slug
in his wing, And strap him on to my lunzie string, Right seldom would
I fail.
After an ineffectual attempt to recover the second verse, he sung the
first over again; and, in prosecution of his triumph, declared there was
'more sense in that than in all the derry-dongs of France, and Fifeshire
to the boot of it.' The Baron only answered with a long pinch of snuff
and a glance of infinite contempt. But those noble allies, the Bear and
the Hen, had emancipated the young laird from the habitual reverence
in which he held Bradwardine at other times. He pronounced the claret
shilpit, and demanded brandy with great vociferation. It was brought;
and now the Demon of Politics envied even the harmony arising from
this Dutch concert, merely because there was not a wrathful note in the
strange compound of sounds which it produced. Inspired by her, the
Laird of Balmawhapple, now superior to the nods and winks with
which the Baron of Bradwardine, in delicacy to Edward, had hitherto
checked his entering upon political discussion, demanded a bumper,
with the lungs of a Stentor, 'to the little gentleman in black velvet who
did such service in 1702, and may the white horse break his neck over a
mound of his making!'
Edward was not at that moment clear-headed enough to remember that
King William's fall, which occasioned his death, was said to be owing
to his horse stumbling at a mole-hill; yet felt inclined to take umbrage
at a toast which seemed, from the glance of Balmawhapple's eye, to
have a peculiar and uncivil reference to the Government which he
served. But, ere he could interfere, the Baron of Bradwardine had taken
up the quarrel. 'Sir,' he said, 'whatever my sentiments tanquam privatus
may be in such matters, I shall not tamely endure your saying anything
that may impinge upon the honourable feelings of a gentleman under
my roof. Sir, if you have no respect for the laws of urbanity, do ye not
respect the military oath, the sacramentum militare, by which every
officer is bound to the standards under which he is enrolled? Look at
Titus Livius, what he says of those Roman soldiers who were so
unhappy as exuere sacramentum, to renounce their legionary oath; but
you are ignorant, sir, alike of ancient history and modern courtesy.'
'Not so ignorant as ye would pronounce me,' roared Balmawhapple. 'I
ken weel that you mean the Solemn League and Covenant; but if a' the
Whigs in hell had taken the--'
Here the Baron and Waverley both spoke at once, the former calling
out, 'Be silent, sir! ye not only show your ignorance, but disgrace your
native country before a stranger and an Englishman'; and Waverley, at
the same moment, entreating Mr. Bradwardine to permit him to reply to
an affront which seemed levelled at him personally. But the Baron was
exalted by wine, wrath, and scorn above all sublunary considerations.
'I crave you to be hushed, Captain Waverley; you are elsewhere,
peradventure, sui juris,--foris-familiated, that is, and entitled, it may be,
to think and resent for yourself; but in my domain, in this poor Barony
of Bradwardine, and under this roof, which is quasi mine, being held by
tacit relocation by a tenant at will, I am in loco parentis to you, and
bound to see you scathless. And for you, Mr. Falconer of
Balmawhapple, I warn ye, let me see no more aberrations from the
paths of good manners.'
'And I tell you, Mr. Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine of Bradwardine and
Tully-Veolan,' retorted the sportsman in huge disdain, 'that I'll make a
moor-cock of the man that refuses my toast, whether it be a crop-eared
English Whig wi' a black ribband at his lug, or ane wha deserts his ain
friends to claw favour wi' the rats of Hanover.'
In an instant both rapiers were brandished, and some desperate passes
exchanged. Balmawhapple was young, stout, and active; but the Baron,
infinitely more master of his weapon, would, like Sir Toby Belch, have
tickled his opponent other gates than he did had he not been under the
influence of Ursa Major.
Edward rushed forward to interfere between the combatants, but the
prostrate bulk of the Laird of Killancureit, over which he stumbled,
intercepted his passage. How Killancureit happened to be in this
recumbent posture at so interesting a moment was never accurately
known. Some thought he was about to insconce himself under the table;
he himself alleged that he stumbled in the act of lifting a joint-stool, to
prevent mischief, by knocking down Balmawhapple. Be that as it may,
if readier aid than either his or Waverley's had not interposed, there
would certainly have been bloodshed. But the well-known clash of
swords, which was no stranger to her dwelling, aroused Luckie
Macleary as she sat quietly beyond the hallan, or earthen partition of
the cottage, with eyes employed on Boston's 'Crook the Lot,' while her
ideas were engaged in summing up the reckoning. She boldly rushed in,
with the shrill expostulation, 'Wad their honours slay ane another there,
and bring discredit on an honest widow-woman's house, when there
was a' the lee-land in the country to fight upon?' a remonstrance which
she seconded by flinging her plaid with great dexterity over the
weapons of the combatants. The servants by this time rushed in, and
being, by great chance, tolerably sober, separated the incensed
opponents, with the assistance of Edward and Killancureit. The latter
led off Balmawhapple, cursing, swearing, and vowing revenge against
every Whig, Presbyterian, and fanatic in England and Scotland, from
John-o'-Groat's to the Land's End, and with difficulty got him to horse.
Our hero, with the assistance of Saunders Saunderson, escorted the
Baron of Bradwardine to his own dwelling, but could not prevail upon
him to retire to bed until he had made a long and learned apology for
the events of the evening, of which, however, there was not a word
intelligible, except something about the Centaurs and the Lapithae.
CHAPTER XII
REPENTANCE AND A RECONCILIATION
Waverley was unaccustomed to the use of wine, excepting with great
temperance. He slept therefore soundly till late in the succeeding
morning, and then awakened to a painful recollection of the scene of
the preceding evening. He had received a personal affront--he, a
gentleman, a soldier, and a Waverley. True, the person who offered it
was not, at the time it was given, possessed of the moderate share of
sense which nature had allotted him; true also, in resenting this insult,
he would break the laws of Heaven as well as of his country; true, in
doing so, he might take the life of a young man who perhaps
respectably discharged the social duties, and render his family
miserable, or he might lose his own--no pleasant alternative even to the
bravest, when it is debated coolly and in private.
All this pressed on his mind; yet the original statement recurred with
the same irresistible force. He had received a personal insult; he was of
the house of Waverley; and he bore a commission. There was no
alternative; and he descended to the breakfast parlour with the intention
of taking leave of the family, and writing to one of his brother officers
to meet him at the inn midway between Tully-Veolan and the town
where they were quartered, in order that he might convey such a
message to the Laird of Balmawhapple as the circumstances seemed to
demand. He found Miss Bradwardine presiding over the tea and coffee,
the table loaded with warm bread, both of flour, oatmeal, and
barleymeal, in the shape of loaves, cakes, biscuits, and other varieties,
together with eggs, reindeer ham, mutton and beef ditto, smoked
salmon, marmalade, and all the other delicacies which induced even
Johnson himself to extol the luxury of a Scotch breakfast above that of
all other countries. A mess of oatmeal porridge, flanked by a silver jug,
which held an equal mixture of cream and butter-milk, was placed for
the Baron's share of this repast; but Rose observed, he had walked out
early in the morning, after giving orders that his guest should not be
disturbed.
Waverley sat down almost in silence, and with an air of absence and
abstraction which could not give Miss Bradwardine a favourable
opinion of his talents for conversation. He answered at random one or
two observations which she ventured to make upon ordinary topics; so
that, feeling herself almost repulsed in her efforts at entertaining him,
and secretly wondering that a scarlet coat should cover no better
breeding, she left him to his mental amusement of cursing Doctor
Doubleit's favourite constellation of Ursa Major as the cause of all the
mischief which had already happened and was likely to ensue. At once
he started, and his colour heightened, as, looking toward the window,
he beheld the Baron and young Balmawhapple pass arm in arm,
apparently in deep conversation; and he hastily asked, 'Did Mr.
Falconer sleep here last night?' Rose, not much pleased with the
abruptness of the first question which the young stranger had addressed
to her, answered drily in the negative, and the conversation again sunk
into silence.
At this moment Mr. Saunderson appeared, with a message from his
master, requesting to speak with Captain Waverley in another
apartment. With a heart which beat a little quicker, not indeed from fear,
but from uncertainty and anxiety, Edward obeyed the summons. He
found the two gentlemen standing together, an air of complacent
dignity on the brow of the Baron, while something like sullenness or
shame, or both, blanked the bold visage of Balmawhapple. The former
slipped his arm through that of the latter, and thus seeming to walk with
him, while in reality he led him, advanced to meet Waverley, and,
stopping in the midst of the apartment, made in great state the
following oration: 'Captain Waverley--my young and esteemed friend,
Mr. Falconer of Balmawhapple, has craved of my age and experience,
as of one not wholly unskilled in the dependencies and punctilios of the
duello or monomachia, to be his interlocutor in expressing to you the
regret with which he calls to remembrance certain passages of our
symposion last night, which could not but be highly displeasing to you,
as serving for the time under this present existing government. He
craves you, sir, to drown in oblivion the memory of such solecisms
against the laws of politeness, as being what his better reason disavows,
and to receive the hand which he offers you in amity; and I must needs
assure you that nothing less than a sense of being dans son tort, as a
gallant French chevalier, Mons. Le Bretailleur, once said to me on such
an occasion, and an opinion also of your peculiar merit, could have
extorted such concessions; for he and all his family are, and have been,
time out of mind, Mavortia pectora, as Buchanan saith, a bold and
warlike sept, or people.'
Edward immediately, and with natural politeness, accepted the hand
which Balmawhapple, or rather the Baron in his character of mediator,
extended towards him. 'It was impossible,' he said, 'for him to
remember what a gentleman expressed his wish he had not uttered; and
he willingly imputed what had passed to the exuberant festivity of the
day.'
'That is very handsomely said,' answered the Baron; 'for undoubtedly, if
a man be ebrius, or intoxicated, an incident which on solemn and
festive occasions may and will take place in the life of a man of honour;
and if the same gentleman, being fresh and sober, recants the
contumelies which he hath spoken in his liquor, it must be held vinum
locutum est; the words cease to be his own. Yet would I not find this
exculpation relevant in the case of one who was ebriosus, or an habitual
drunkard; because, if such a person choose to pass the greater part of
his time in the predicament of intoxication, he hath no title to be
exeemed from the obligations of the code of politeness, but should
learn to deport himself peaceably and courteously when under
influence of the vinous stimulus. And now let us proceed to breakfast,
and think no more of this daft business.'
I must confess, whatever inference may be drawn from the
circumstance, that Edward, after so satisfactory an explanation, did
much greater honour to the delicacies of Miss Bradwardine's
breakfast-table than his commencement had promised. Balmawhapple,
on the contrary, seemed embarrassed and dejected; and Waverley now,
for the first time, observed that his arm was in a sling, which seemed to
account for the awkward and embarrassed manner with which he had
presented his hand. To a question from Miss Bradwardine, he muttered
in answer something about his horse having fallen; and seeming
desirous to escape both from the subject and the company, he arose as
soon as breakfast was over, made his bow to the party, and, declining
the Baron's invitation to tarry till after dinner, mounted his horse and
returned to his own home.
Waverley now announced his purpose of leaving Tully-Veolan early
enough after dinner to gain the stage at which he meant to sleep; but the
unaffected and deep mortification with which the good-natured and
affectionate old gentleman heard the proposal quite deprived him of
courage to persist in it. No sooner had he gained Waverley's consent to
lengthen his visit for a few days than he laboured to remove the
grounds upon which he conceived he had meditated a more early retreat.
'I would not have you opine, Captain Waverley, that I am by practice or
precept an advocate of ebriety, though it may be that, in our festivity of
last night, some of our friends, if not perchance altogether ebrii, or
drunken, were, to say the least, ebrioli, by which the ancients designed
those who were fuddled, or, as your English vernacular and
metaphorical phrase goes, half-seas-over. Not that I would so insinuate
respecting you, Captain Waverley, who, like a prudent youth, did rather
abstain from potation; nor can it be truly said of myself, who, having
assisted at the tables of many great generals and marechals at their
solemn carousals, have the art to carry my wine discreetly, and did not,
during the whole evening, as ye must have doubtless observed, exceed
the bounds of a modest hilarity.'
There was no refusing assent to a proposition so decidedly laid down
by him, who undoubtedly was the best judge; although, had Edward
formed his opinion from his own recollections, he would have
pronounced that the Baron was not only ebriolus, but verging to
become ebrius; or, in plain English, was incomparably the most drunk
of the party, except perhaps his antagonist the Laird of Balmawhapple.
However, having received the expected, or rather the required,
compliment on his sobriety, the Baron proceeded--'No, sir, though I am
myself of a strong temperament, I abhor ebriety, and detest those who
swallow wine gulce causa, for the oblectation of the gullet; albeit I
might deprecate the law of Pittacus of Mitylene, who punished doubly
a crime committed under the influence of 'Liber Pater'; nor would I
utterly accede to the objurgation of the younger Plinius, in the
fourteenth book of his 'Historia Naturalis.' No, sir, I distinguish, I
discriminate, and approve of wine so far only as it maketh glad the face,
or, in the language of Flaccus, recepto amico.'
Thus terminated the apology which the Baron of Bradwardine thought
it necessary to make for the superabundance of his hospitality; and it
may be easily believed that he was neither interrupted by dissent nor
any expression of incredulity.
He then invited his guest to a morning ride, and ordered that Davie
Gellatley should meet them at the dern path with Ban and Buscar. 'For,
until the shooting season commence, I would willingly show you some
sport, and we may, God willing, meet with a roe. The roe, Captain
Waverley, may be hunted at all times alike; for never being in what is
called PRIDE OF GREASE, he is also never out of season, though it be
a truth that his venison is not equal to that of either the red or fallow
deer. [Footnote: The learned in cookery dissent from the Baron of
Bradwardine, and hold the roe venison dry and indifferent food, unless
when dressed in soup and Scotch collops.] But he will serve to show
how my dogs run; and therefore they shall attend us with David
Gellatley.'
Waverley expressed his surprise that his friend Davie was capable of
such trust; but the Baron gave him to understand that this poor
simpleton was neither fatuous, nec naturaliter idiota, as is expressed in
the brieves of furiosity, but simply a crack-brained knave, who could
execute very well any commission which jumped with his own humour,
and made his folly a plea for avoiding every other. 'He has made an
interest with us,' continued the Baron, 'by saving Rose from a great
danger with his own proper peril; and the roguish loon must therefore
eat of our bread and drink of our cup, and do what he can, or what he
will, which, if the suspicions of Saunderson and the Bailie are well
founded, may perchance in his case be commensurate terms.'
Miss Bradwardine then gave Waverley to understand that this poor
simpleton was dotingly fond of music, deeply affected by that which
was melancholy, and transported into extravagant gaiety by light and
lively airs. He had in this respect a prodigious memory, stored with
miscellaneous snatches and fragments of all tunes and songs, which he
sometimes applied, with considerable address, as the vehicles of
remonstrance, explanation, or satire. Davie was much attached to the
few who showed him kindness; and both aware of any slight or ill
usage which he happened to receive, and sufficiently apt, where he saw
opportunity, to revenge it. The common people, who often judge hardly
of each other as well as of their betters, although they had expressed
great compassion for the poor innocent while suffered to wander in rags
about the village, no sooner beheld him decently clothed, provided for,
and even a sort of favourite, than they called up all the instances of
sharpness and ingenuity, in action and repartee, which his annals
afforded, and charitably bottomed thereupon a hypothesis that David
Gellatley was no farther fool than was necessary to avoid hard labour.
This opinion was not better founded than that of the Negroes, who,
from the acute and mischievous pranks of the monkeys, suppose that
they have the gift of speech, and only suppress their powers of
elocution to escape being set to work. But the hypothesis was entirely
imaginary; David Gellatley was in good earnest the half-crazed
simpleton which he appeared, and was incapable of any constant and
steady exertion. He had just so much solidity as kept on the windy side
of insanity, so much wild wit as saved him from the imputation of
idiocy, some dexterity in field-sports (in which we have known as great
fools excel), great kindness and humanity in the treatment of animals
entrusted to him, warm affections, a prodigious memory, and an ear for
music.
The stamping of horses was now heard in the court, and Davie's voice
singing to the two large deer greyhounds,
Hie away, hie away, Over bank and over brae, Where the copsewood is
the greenest, Where the fountains glisten sheenest, Where the lady-fern
grows strongest, Where the morning dew lies longest, Where the
black-cock sweetest sips it, Where the fairy latest trips it. Hie to haunts
right seldom seen, Lovely, lonesome, cool, and green, Over bank and
over brae, Hie away, hie away.
'Do the verses he sings,' asked Waverley, 'belong to old Scottish poetry,
Miss Bradwardine?'
'I believe not,' she replied. 'This poor creature had a brother, and
Heaven, as if to compensate to the family Davie's deficiencies, had
given him what the hamlet thought uncommon talents. An uncle
contrived to educate him for the Scottish kirk, but he could not get
preferment because he came from our GROUND. He returned from
college hopeless and brokenhearted, and fell into a decline. My father
supported him till his death, which happened before he was nineteen.
He played beautifully on the flute, and was supposed to have a great
turn for poetry. He was affectionate and compassionate to his brother,
who followed him like his shadow, and we think that from him Davie
gathered many fragments of songs and music unlike those of this
country. But if we ask him where he got such a fragment as he is now
singing, he either answers with wild and long fits of laughter, or else
breaks into tears of lamentation; but was never heard to give any
explanation, or to mention his brother's name since his death.'
'Surely,' said Edward, who was readily interested by a tale bordering on
the romantic, 'surely more might be learned by more particular inquiry.'
'Perhaps so,' answered Rose; 'but my father will not permit any one to
practise on his feelings on this subject.'
By this time the Baron, with the help of Mr. Saunderson, had indued a
pair of jack-boots of large dimensions, and now invited our hero to
follow him as he stalked clattering down the ample stair-case, tapping
each huge balustrade as he passed with the butt of his massive
horse-whip, and humming, with the air of a chasseur of Louis
Quatorze,--
Pour la chasse ordonnee il faut preparer tout. Ho la ho! Vite! vite
debout!
CHAPTER XIII
A MORE RATIONAL DAY THAN THE LAST
The Baron of Bradwardine, mounted on an active and well-managed
horse, and seated on a demi-pique saddle, with deep housings to agree
with his livery, was no bad representative of the old school. His
light-coloured embroidered coat, and superbly barred waistcoat, his
brigadier wig, surmounted by a small gold-laced cocked-hat, completed
his personal costume; but he was attended by two well-mounted
servants on horseback, armed with holster-pistols.
In this guise he ambled forth over hill and valley, the admiration of
every farm-yard which they passed in their progress, till, 'low down in a
grassy vale,' they found David Gellatley leading two very tall deer
greyhounds, and presiding over half a dozen curs, and about as many
bare-legged and bare-headed boys, who, to procure the chosen
distinction of attending on the chase, had not failed to tickle his ears
with the dulcet appellation of Maister Gellatley, though probably all
and each had hooted him on former occasions in the character of daft
Davie. But this is no uncommon strain of flattery to persons in office,
nor altogether confined to the barelegged villagers of Tully-Veolan; it
was in fashion Sixty Years Since, is now, and will be six hundred years
hence, if this admirable compound of folly and knavery, called the
world, shall be then in existence.
These Gillie-wet-foots, as they were called, were destined to beat the
bushes, which they performed with so much success, that, after half an
hour's search, a roe was started, coursed, and killed; the Baron
following on his white horse, like Earl Percy of yore, and
magnanimously flaying and embowelling the slain animal (which, he
observed, was called by the French chasseurs, faire la curee) with his
own baronial couteau de chasse. After this ceremony, he conducted his
guest homeward by a pleasant and circuitous route, commanding an
extensive prospect of different villages and houses, to each of which
Mr. Bradwardine attached some anecdote of history or genealogy, told
in language whimsical from prejudice and pedantry, but often
respectable for the good sense and honourable feelings which his
narrative displayed, and almost always curious, if not valuable, for the
information they contained.
The truth is, the ride seemed agreeable to both gentlemen, because they
found amusement in each other's conversation, although their
characters and habits of thinking were in many respects totally opposite.
Edward, we have informed the reader, was warm in his feelings, wild
and romantic in his ideas and in his taste of reading, with a strong
disposition towards poetry. Mr Bradwardine was the reverse of all this,
and piqued himself upon stalking through life with the same upright,
starched, stoical gravity which distinguished his evening promenade
upon the terrace of Tully-Veolan, where for hours together--the very
model of old Hardyknute-Stately stepp'd he east the wa', And stately stepp'd he west
As for literature, he read the classic poets, to be sure, and the
'Epithalamium' of Georgius Buchanan and Arthur Johnston's Psalms, of
a Sunday; and the 'Deliciae Poetarum Scotorum,' and Sir David
Lindsay's 'Works', and Barbour's 'Brace', and Blind Harry's 'Wallace',
and 'The Gentle Shepherd', and 'The Cherry and The Slae.'
But though he thus far sacrificed his time to the Muses, he would, if the
truth must be spoken, have been much better pleased had the pious or
sapient apothegms, as well as the historical narratives, which these
various works contained, been presented to him in the form of simple
prose. And he sometimes could not refrain from expressing contempt
of the 'vain and unprofitable art of poem-making', in which, he said,'the
only one who had excelled in his time was Allan Ramsay, the
periwigmaker.'
[Footnote: The Baron ought to have remembered that the joyous Allan
literally drew his blood from the house of the noble earl whom he
terms--
Dalhousie of an old descent My stoup, my pride, my ornament.]
But although Edward and he differed TOTO COELO, as the Baron
would have said, upon this subject, yet they met upon history as on a
neutral ground, in which each claimed an interest. The Baron, indeed,
only cumbered his memory with matters of fact, the cold, dry, hard
outlines which history delineates. Edward, on the contrary, loved to fill
up and round the sketch with the colouring of a warm and vivid
imagination, which gives light and life to the actors and speakers in the
drama of past ages. Yet with tastes so opposite, they contributed greatly
to each other's amusement. Mr. Bradwardine's minute narratives and
powerful memory supplied to Waverley fresh subjects of the kind upon
which his fancy loved to labour, and opened to him a new mine of
incident and of character. And he repaid the pleasure thus
communicated by an earnest attention, valuable to all story-tellers,
more especially to the Baron, who felt his habits of self-respect
flattered by it; and sometimes also by reciprocal communications,
which interested Mr. Bradwardine, as confirming or illustrating his
own favourite anecdotes. Besides, Mr. Bradwardine loved to talk of the
scenes of his youth, which had been spent in camps and foreign lands,
and had many interesting particulars to tell of the generals under whom
he had served and the actions he had witnessed.
Both parties returned to Tully-Veolan in great good-humour with each
other; Waverley desirous of studying more attentively what he
considered as a singular and interesting character, gifted with a memory
containing a curious register of ancient and modern anecdotes; and
Bradwardine disposed to regard Edward as puer (or rather juvenis)
bonae spei et magnae indolis, a youth devoid of that petulant volatility
which is impatient of, or vilipends, the conversation and advice of his
seniors, from which he predicted great things of his future success and
deportment in life. There was no other guest except Mr. Rubrick,
whose information and discourse, as a clergyman and a scholar,
harmonised very well with that of the Baron and his guest.
Shortly after dinner, the Baron, as if to show that his temperance was
not entirely theoretical, proposed a visit to Rose's apartment, or, as he
termed it, her troisieme etage. Waverley was accordingly conducted
through one or two of those long awkward passages with which ancient
architects studied to puzzle the inhabitants of the houses which they
planned, at the end of which Mr. Bradwardine began to ascend, by two
steps at once, a very steep, narrow, and winding stair, leaving Mr.
Rubrick and Waverley to follow at more leisure, while he should
announce their approach to his daughter.
After having climbed this perpendicular corkscrew until their brains
were almost giddy, they arrived in a little matted lobby, which served
as an anteroom to Rose's sanctum sanctorum, and through which they
entered her parlour. It was a small, but pleasant apartment, opening to
the south, and hung with tapestry; adorned besides with two pictures,
one of her mother, in the dress of a shepherdess, with a bell-hoop; the
other of the Baron, in his tenth year, in a blue coat, embroidered
waistcoat, laced hat, and bag-wig, with a bow in his hand. Edward
could not help smiling at the costume, and at the odd resemblance
between the round, smooth, red-cheeked, staring visage in the portrait,
and the gaunt, bearded, hollow-eyed, swarthy features, which travelling,
fatigues of war, and advanced age, had bestowed on the original. The
Baron joined in the laugh. 'Truly,' he said,'that picture was a woman's
fantasy of my good mother's (a daughter of the Laird of Tulliellum,
Captain Waverley; I indicated the house to you when we were on the
top of the Shinnyheuch; it was burnt by the Dutch auxiliaries brought in
by the Government in 1715); I never sate for my pourtraicture but once
since that was painted, and it was at the special and reiterated request of
the Marechal Duke of Berwick.'
The good old gentleman did not mention what Mr. Rubrick afterwards
told Edward, that the Duke had done him this honour on account of his
being the first to mount the breach of a fort in Savoy during the
memorable campaign of 1709, and his having there defended himself
with his half-pike for nearly ten minutes before any support reached
him. To do the Baron justice, although sufficiently prone to dwell upon,
and even to exaggerate, his family dignity and consequence, he was too
much a man of real courage ever to allude to such personal acts of
merit as he had himself manifested.
Miss Rose now appeared from the interior room of her apartment, to
welcome her father and his friends. The little labours in which she had
been employed obviously showed a natural taste, which required only
cultivation. Her father had taught her French and Italian, and a few of
the ordinary authors in those languages ornamented her shelves. He had
endeavoured also to be her preceptor in music; but as he began with the
more abstruse doctrines of the science, and was not perhaps master of
them himself, she had made no proficiency farther than to be able to
accompany her voice with the harpsichord; but even this was not very
common in Scotland at that period. To make amends, she sung with
great taste and feeling, and with a respect to the sense of what she
uttered that might be proposed in example to ladies of much superior
musical talent. Her natural good sense taught her that, if, as we are
assured by high authority, music be 'married to immortal verse,' they
are very often divorced by the performer in a most shameful manner. It
was perhaps owing to this sensibility to poetry, and power of
combining its expression with those of the musical notes, that her
singing gave more pleasure to all the unlearned in music, and even to
many of the learned, than could have been communicated by a much
finer voice and more brilliant execution unguided by the same delicacy
of feeling.
A bartizan, or projecting gallery, before the windows of her parlour,
served to illustrate another of Rose's pursuits; for it was crowded with
flowers of different kinds, which she had taken under her special
protection. A projecting turret gave access to this Gothic balcony,
which commanded a most beautiful prospect. The formal garden, with
its high bounding walls, lay below, contracted, as it seemed, to a mere
parterre; while the view extended beyond them down a wooded glen,
where the small river was sometimes visible, sometimes hidden in
copse. The eye might be delayed by a desire to rest on the rocks, which
here and there rose from the dell with massive or spiry fronts, or it
might dwell on the noble, though ruined tower, which was here beheld
in all its dignity, frowning from a promontory over the river. To the left
were seen two or three cottages, a part of the village, the brow of the
hill concealed the others. The glen, or dell, was terminated by a sheet of
water, called Loch Veolan, into which the brook discharged itself, and
which now glistened in the western sun. The distant country seemed
open and varied in surface, though not wooded; and there was nothing
to interrupt the view until the scene was bounded by a ridge of distant
and blue hills, which formed the southern boundary of the strath or
valley. To this pleasant station Miss Bradwardine had ordered coffee.
The view of the old tower, or fortalice, introduced some family
anecdotes and tales of Scottish chivalry, which the Baron told with
great enthusiasm. The projecting peak of an impending crag which rose
near it had acquired the name of Saint Swithin's Chair. It was the scene
of a peculiar superstition, of which Mr. Rubrick mentioned some
curious particulars, which reminded Waverley of a rhyme quoted by
Edgar in King Lear; and Rose was called upon to sing a little legend, in
which they had been interwoven by some village poet,
Who, noteless as the race from which he sprung, Saved others' names,
but left his own unsung.
The sweetness of her voice, and the simple beauty of her music, gave
all the advantage which the minstrel could have desired, and which his
poetry so much wanted. I almost doubt if it can be read with patience,
destitute of these advantages, although I conjecture the following copy
to have been somewhat corrected by Waverley, to suit the taste of those
who might not relish pure antiquity.
Saint Swithin's Chair
On Hallow-Mass Eve, ere ye boune ye to rest, Ever beware that your
couch be bless'd; Sign it with cross, and sain it with bead, Sing the Ave,
and say the Creed.
For on Hallow-Mass Eve the Night-Hag will ride, And all her nine-fold
sweeping on by her side, Whether the wind sing lowly or loud, Sailing
through moonshine or swath'd in the cloud.
The Lady she sat in Saint Swithin's Chair, The dew of the night has
damp'd her hair: Her cheek was pale; but resolved and high Was the
word of her lip and the glance of her eye.
She mutter'd the spell of Swithin bold, When his naked foot traced the
midnight wold, When he stopp'd the Hag as she rode the night, And
bade her descend, and her promise plight.
He that dare sit on Saint Swithin's Chair, When the Night-Hag wings
the troubled air, Questions three, when he speaks the spell, He may ask,
and she must tell.
The Baron has been with King Robert his liege These three long years
in battle and siege; News are there none of his weal or his woe, And
fain the Lady his fate would know.
She shudders and stops as the charm she speaks;-- Is it the moody owl
that shrieks? Or is it that sound, betwixt laughter and scream, The voice
of the Demon who haunts the stream?
The moan of the wind sunk silent and low, And the roaring torrent had
ceased to flow; The calm was more dreadful than raging storm, When
the cold grey mist brought the ghastly Form!
'I am sorry to disappoint the company, especially Captain Waverley,
who listens with such laudable gravity; it is but a fragment, although I
think there are other verses, describing the return of the Baron from the
wars, and how the lady was found "clay-cold upon the grounsill ledge.'"
'It is one of those figments,' observed Mr. Bradwardine, 'with which the
early history of distinguished families was deformed in the times of
superstition; as that of Rome, and other ancient nations, had their
prodigies, sir, the which you may read in ancient histories, or in the
little work compiled by Julius Obsequens, and inscribed by the learned
Scheffer, the editor, to his patron, Benedictus Skytte, Baron of
Dudershoff.'
'My father has a strange defiance of the marvellous, Captain Waverley,'
observed Rose, 'and once stood firm when a whole synod of
Presbyterian divines were put to the rout by a sudden apparition of the
foul fiend.'
Waverley looked as if desirous to hear more.
'Must I tell my story as well as sing my song? Well--Once upon a time
there lived an old woman, called Janet Gellatley, who was suspected to
be a witch, on the infallible grounds that she was very old, very ugly,
very poor, and had two sons, one of whom was a poet and the other a
fool, which visitation, all the neighbourhood agreed, had come upon
her for the sin of witchcraft. And she was imprisoned for a week in the
steeple of the parish church, and sparely supplied with food, and not
permitted to sleep until she herself became as much persuaded of her
being a witch as her accusers; and in this lucid and happy state of mind
was brought forth to make a clean breast, that is, to make open
confession of her sorceries, before all the Whig gentry and ministers in
the vicinity, who were no conjurors themselves. My father went to see
fair play between the witch and the clergy; for the witch had been born
on his estate. And while the witch was confessing that the Enemy
appeared, and made his addresses to her as a handsome black
man,--which, if you could have seen poor old blear-eyed Janet,
reflected little honour on Apollyon's taste,--and while the auditors
listened with astonished ears, and the clerk recorded with a trembling
hand, she, all of a sudden, changed the low mumbling tone with which
she spoke into a shrill yell, and exclaimed, "Look to yourselves! look to
yourselves! I see the Evil One sitting in the midst of ye." The surprise
was general, and terror and flight its immediate consequences. Happy
were those who were next the door; and many were the disasters that
befell hats, bands, cuffs, and wigs, before they could get out of the
church, where they left the obstinate prelatist to settle matters with the
witch and her admirer at his own peril or pleasure.'
'Risu solvuntur tabulae,' said the Baron; 'when they recovered their
panic trepidation they were too much ashamed to bring any wakening
of the process against Janet Gellatley.' [Footnote: See Note 36]
This anecdote led to a long discussion of
All those idle thoughts and fantasies, Devices, dreams, opinions
unsound, Shows, visions, soothsays, and prophecies, And all that
feigned is, as leasings, tales, and lies. With such conversation, and the
romantic legends which it introduced, closed our hero's second evening
in the house of Tully-Veolan.
CHAPTER XIV
A DISCOVERY--WAVERLEY BECOMES DOMESTICATED AT
TULLY-VEOLAN
The next day Edward arose betimes, and in a morning walk around the
house and its vicinity came suddenly upon a small court in front of the
dog-kennel, where his friend Davie was employed about his
four-footed charge. One quick glance of his eye recognised Waverley,
when, instantly turning his back, as if he had not observed him, he
began to sing part of an old ballad:-Young men will love thee more fair and more fast; Heard ye so merry
the little bird sing? Old men's love the longest will last, And the
throstle-cock's head is under his wing.
The young man's wrath is like light straw on fire; Heard ye so merry
the little bird sing? But like red-hot steel is the old man's ire, And the
throstle-cock's head is under his wing.
The young man will brawl at the evening board; Heard ye so merry the
little bird sing? But the old man will draw at the dawning the sword,
And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing.
Waverley could not avoid observing that Davie laid something like a
satirical emphasis on these lines. He therefore approached, and
endeavoured, by sundry queries, to elicit from him what the innuendo
might mean; but Davie had no mind to explain, and had wit enough to
make his folly cloak his knavery. Edward could collect nothing from
him, excepting that the Laird of Balmawhapple had gone home
yesterday morning 'wi' his boots fu' o' bluid.' In the garden, however, he
met the old butler, who no longer attempted to conceal that, having
been bred in the nursery line with Sumack and Co. of Newcastle, he
sometimes wrought a turn in the flower-borders to oblige the Laird and
Miss Rose. By a series of queries, Edward at length discovered, with a
painful feeling of surprise and shame, that Balmawhapple's submission
and apology had been the consequence of a rencontre with the Baron
before his guest had quitted his pillow, in which the younger combatant
had been disarmed and wounded in the sword arm.
Greatly mortified at this information, Edward sought out his friendly
host, and anxiously expostulated with him upon the injustice he had
done him in anticipating his meeting with Mr. Falconer, a circumstance
which, considering his youth and the profession of arms which he had
just adopted, was capable of being represented much to his prejudice.
The Baron justified himself at greater length than I choose to repeat. He
urged that the quarrel was common to them, and that Balmawhapple
could not, by the code of honour, evite giving satisfaction to both,
which he had done in his case by an honourable meeting, and in that of
Edward by such a palinode as rendered the use of the sword
unnecessary, and which, being made and accepted, must necessarily
sopite the whole affair.
With this excuse, or explanation, Waverley was silenced, if not
satisfied; but he could not help testifying some displeasure against the
Blessed Bear, which had given rise to the quarrel, nor refrain from
hinting that the sanctified epithet was hardly appropriate. The Baron
observed, he could not deny that 'the Bear, though allowed by heralds
as a most honourable ordinary, had, nevertheless, somewhat fierce,
churlish, and morose in his disposition (as might be read in Archibald
Simson, pastor of Dalkeith's 'Hieroglyphica Animalium') and had thus
been the type of many quarrels and dissensions which had occurred in
the house of Bradwardine; of which,' he continued, 'I might
commemorate mine own unfortunate dissension with my third cousin
by the mother's side, Sir Hew Halbert, who was so unthinking as to
deride my family name, as if it had been QUASI BEAR-WARDEN; a
most uncivil jest, since it not only insinuated that the founder of our
house occupied such a mean situation as to be a custodier of wild
beasts, a charge which, ye must have observed, is only entrusted to the
very basest plebeians; but, moreover, seemed to infer that our
coat-armour had not been achieved by honourable actions in war, but
bestowed by way of paranomasia, or pun, upon our family
appellation,--a sort of bearing which the French call armoires parlantes,
the Latins arma cantantia, and your English authorities canting heraldry,
[Footnote: See Note 37] being indeed a species of emblazoning more
befitting canters, gaberlunzies, and such like mendicants, whose
gibberish is formed upon playing upon the word, than the noble,
honourable, and useful science of heraldry, which assigns armorial
bearings as the reward of noble and generous actions, and not to tickle
the ear with vain quodlibets, such as are found in jestbooks.' Of his
quarrel with Sir Hew he said nothing more than that it was settled in a
fitting manner.
Having been so minute with respect to the diversions of Tully-Veolan
on the first days of Edward's arrival, for the purpose of introducing its
inmates to the reader's acquaintance, it becomes less necessary to trace
the progress of his intercourse with the same accuracy. It is probable
that a young man, accustomed to more cheerful society, would have
tired of the conversation of so violent an assertor of the 'boast of
heraldry' as the Baron; but Edward found an agreeable variety in that of
Miss Bradwardine, who listened with eagerness to his remarks upon
literature, and showed great justness of taste in her answers. The
sweetness of her disposition had made her submit with complacency,
and even pleasure, to the course of reading prescribed by her father,
although it not only comprehended several heavy folios of history, but
certain gigantic tomes in high-church polemics. In heraldry he was
fortunately contented to give her only such a slight tincture as might be
acquired by perusal of the two folio volumes of Nisbet. Rose was
indeed the very apple of her father's eye. Her constant liveliness, her
attention to all those little observances most gratifying to those who
would never think of exacting them, her beauty, in which he recalled
the features of his beloved wife, her unfeigned piety, and the noble
generosity of her disposition, would have justified the affection of the
most doting father.
His anxiety on her behalf did not, however, seem to extend itself in that
quarter where, according to the general opinion, it is most efficiently
displayed, in labouring, namely, to establish her in life, either by a large
dowry or a wealthy marriage. By an old settlement, almost all the
landed estates of the Baron went, after his death, to a distant relation;
and it was supposed that Miss Bradwardine would remain but slenderly
provided for, as the good gentleman's cash matters had been too long
under the exclusive charge of Bailie Macwheeble to admit of any great
expectations from his personal succession. It is true, the said Bailie
loved his patron and his patron's daughter next (though at an
incomparable distance) to himself. He thought it was possible to set
aside the settlement on the male line, and had actually procured an
opinion to that effect (and, as he boasted, without a fee) from an
eminent Scottish counsel, under whose notice he contrived to bring the
point while consulting him regularly on some other business. But the
Baron would not listen to such a proposal for an instant. On the
contrary, he used to have a perverse pleasure in boasting that the
barony of Bradwardine was a male fief, the first charter having been
given at that early period when women were not deemed capable to
hold a feudal grant; because, according to Les coustusmes de
Normandie, c'est l'homme ki se bast et ki conseille; or, as is yet more
ungallantly expressed by other authorities, all of whose barbarous
names he delighted to quote at full length, because a woman could not
serve the superior, or feudal lord, in war, on account of the decorum of
her sex, nor assist him with advice, because of her limited intellect, nor
keep his counsel, owing to the infirmity of her disposition. He would
triumphantly ask, how it would become a female, and that female a
Bradwardine, to be seen employed in servitio exuendi, seu detrahendi,
caligas regis post battaliam? that is, in pulling off the king's boots after
an engagement, which was the feudal service by which he held the
barony of Bradwardine. 'No,' he said, 'beyond hesitation, procul dubio,
many females, as worthy as Rose, had been excluded, in order to make
way for my own succession, and Heaven forbid that I should do aught
that might contravene the destination of my forefathers, or impinge
upon the right of my kinsman, Malcolm Bradwardine of Inchgrabbit, an
honourable, though decayed branch of my own family.'
The Bailie, as prime minister, having received this decisive
communication from his sovereign, durst not press his own opinion any
farther, but contented himself with deploring, on all suitable occasions,
to Saunderson, the minister of the interior, the laird's self-willedness,
and with laying plans for uniting Rose with the young Laird of
Balmawhapple, who had a fine estate, only moderately burdened, and
was a faultless young gentleman, being as sober as a saint--if you keep
brandy from him and him from brandy--and who, in brief, had no
imperfection but that of keeping light company at a time; such as Jinker,
the horse-couper, and Gibby Gaethroughwi't, the piper o' Cupar; 'o'
whilk follies, Mr. Saunderson, he'll mend, he'll mend,' pronounced the
Bailie.
'Like sour ale in simmer,' added Davie Gellatley, who happened to be
nearer the conclave than they were aware of.
Miss Bradwardine, such as we have described her, with all the
simplicity and curiosity of a recluse, attached herself to the
opportunities of increasing her store of literature which Edward's visit
afforded her. He sent for some of his books from his quarters, and they
opened to her sources of delight of which she had hitherto had no idea.
The best English poets, of every description, and other works on
belles-lettres, made a part of this precious cargo. Her music, even her
flowers, were neglected, and Saunders not only mourned over, but
began to mutiny against, the labour for which he now scarce received
thanks. These new pleasures became gradually enhanced by sharing
them with one of a kindred taste. Edward's readiness to comment, to
recite, to explain difficult passages, rendered his assistance invaluable;
and the wild romance of his spirit delighted a character too young and
inexperienced to observe its deficiencies. Upon subjects which
interested him, and when quite at ease, he possessed that flow of
natural, and somewhat florid eloquence, which has been supposed as
powerful even as figure, fashion, fame, or fortune, in winning the
female heart. There was, therefore, an increasing danger in this constant
intercourse to poor Rose's peace of mind, which was the more
imminent as her father was greatly too much abstracted in his studies,
and wrapped up in his own dignity, to dream of his daughter's incurring
it. The daughters of the house of Bradwardine were, in his opinion, like
those of the house of Bourbon or Austria, placed high above the clouds
of passion which might obfuscate the intellects of meaner females; they
moved in another sphere, were governed by other feelings, and
amenable to other rules than those of idle and fantastic affection. In
short, he shut his eyes so resolutely to the natural consequences of
Edward's intimacy with Miss Bradwardine, that the whole
neighbourhood concluded that he had opened them to the advantages of
a match between his daughter and the wealthy young Englishman, and
pronounced him much less a fool than he had generally shown himself
in cases where his own interest was concerned.
If the Baron, however, had really meditated such an alliance, the
indifference of Waverley would have been an insuperable bar to his
project. Our hero, since mixing more freely with the world, had learned
to think with great shame and confusion upon his mental legend of
Saint Cecilia, and the vexation of these reflections was likely, for some
time at least, to counterbalance the natural susceptibility of his
disposition. Besides, Rose Bradwardine, beautiful and amiable as we
have described her, had not precisely the sort of beauty or merit which
captivates a romantic imagination in early youth. She was too frank,
too confiding, too kind; amiable qualities, undoubtedly, but destructive
of the marvellous, with which a youth of imagination delights to dress
the empress of his affections. Was it possible to bow, to tremble, and to
adore, before the timid, yet playful little girl, who now asked Edward to
mend her pen, now to construe a stanza in Tasso, and now how to spell
a very--very long word in her version of it? All these incidents have
their fascination on the mind at a certain period of life, but not when a
youth is entering it, and rather looking out for some object whose
affection may dignify him in his own eyes than stooping to one who
looks up to him for such distinction. Hence, though there can be no rule
in so capricious a passion, early love is frequently ambitious in
choosing its object; or, which comes to the same, selects her (as in the
case of Saint Cecilia aforesaid) from a situation that gives fair scope for
le beau ideal, which the reality of intimate and familiar life rather tends
to limit and impair. I knew a very accomplished and sensible young
man cured of a violent passion for a pretty woman, whose talents were
not equal to her face and figure, by being permitted to bear her
company for a whole afternoon. Thus, it is certain, that had Edward
enjoyed such an opportunity of conversing with Miss Stubbs, Aunt
Rachel's precaution would have been unnecessary, for he would as
soon have fallen in love with the dairy-maid. And although Miss
Bradwardine was a very different character, it seems probable that the
very intimacy of their intercourse prevented his feeling for her other
sentiments than those of a brother for an amiable and accomplished
sister; while the sentiments of poor Rose were gradually, and without
her being conscious, assuming a shade of warmer affection.
I ought to have said that Edward, when he sent to Dundee for the books
before mentioned, had applied for, and received permission, extending
his leave of absence. But the letter of his commanding officer contained
a friendly recommendation to him not to spend his time exclusively
with persons who, estimable as they might be in a general sense, could
not be supposed well affected to a government which they declined to
acknowledge by taking the oath of allegiance. The letter further
insinuated, though with great delicacy, that although some family
connections might be supposed to render it necessary for Captain
Waverley to communicate with gentlemen who were in this unpleasant
state of suspicion, yet his father's situation and wishes ought to prevent
his prolonging those attentions into exclusive intimacy. And it was
intimated, that, while his political principles were endangered by
communicating with laymen of this description, he might also receive
erroneous impressions in religion from the prelatic clergy, who so
perversely laboured to set up the royal prerogative in things sacred.
This last insinuation probably induced Waverley to set both down to
the prejudices of his commanding officer. He was sensible that Mr.
Bradwardine had acted with the most scrupulous delicacy, in never
entering upon any discussion that had the most remote tendency to bias
his mind in political opinions, although he was himself not only a
decided partisan of the exiled family, but had been trusted at different
times with important commissions for their service. Sensible, therefore,
that there was no risk of his being perverted from his allegiance,
Edward felt as if he should do his uncle's old friend injustice in
removing from a house where he gave and received pleasure and
amusement, merely to gratify a prejudiced and ill-judged suspicion. He
therefore wrote a very general answer, assuring his commanding officer
that his loyalty was not in the most distant danger of contamination,
and continued an honoured guest and inmate of the house of
Tully-Veolan.
CHAPTER XV
A CREAGH, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
When Edward had been a guest at Tully-Veolan nearly six weeks, he
descried, one morning, as he took his usual walk before the breakfast
hour, signs of uncommon perturbation in the family. Four bare-legged
dairy-maids, with each an empty milk-pail in her hand, ran about with
frantic gestures, and uttering loud exclamations of surprise, grief, and
resentment. From their appearance, a pagan might have conceived them
a detachment of the celebrated Belides, just come from their baling
penance. As nothing was to be got from this distracted chorus,
excepting 'Lord guide us!' and 'Eh sirs!' ejaculations which threw no
light upon the cause of their dismay, Waverley repaired to the
fore-court, as it was called, where he beheld Bailie Macwheeble
cantering his white pony down the avenue with all the speed it could
muster. He had arrived, it would seem, upon a hasty summons, and was
followed by half a score of peasants from the village who had no great
difficulty in keeping pace with him.
The Bailie, greatly too busy and too important to enter into
explanations with Edward, summoned forth Mr. Saunderson, who
appeared with a countenance in which dismay was mingled with
solemnity, and they immediately entered into close conference. Davie
Gellatley was also seen in the group, idle as Diogenes at Sinope while
his countrymen were preparing for a siege. His spirits always rose with
anything, good or bad, which occasioned tumult, and he continued
frisking, hopping, dancing, and singing the burden of an old ballad-'Our gear's a' gane,'
until, happening to pass too near the Bailie, he received an admonitory
hint from his horse-whip, which converted his songs into lamentation.
Passing from thence towards the garden, Waverley beheld the Baron in
person, measuring and re-measuring, with swift and tremendous strides,
the length of the terrace; his countenance clouded with offended pride
and indignation, and the whole of his demeanour such as seemed to
indicate, that any inquiry concerning the cause of his discomposure
would give pain at least, if not offence. Waverley therefore glided into
the house, without addressing him, and took his way to the
breakfast-parlour, where he found his young friend Rose, who, though
she neither exhibited the resentment of her father, the turbid importance
of Bailie Macwheeble, nor the despair of the handmaidens, seemed
vexed and thoughtful. A single word explained the mystery. 'Your
breakfast will be a disturbed one, Captain Waverley. A party of
Caterans have come down upon us last night, and have driven off all
our milch cows.'
'A party of Caterans?'
'Yes; robbers from the neighbouring Highlands. We used to be quite
free from them while we paid blackmail to Fergus Mac-Ivor Vich Ian
Vohr; but my father thought it unworthy of his rank and birth to pay it
any longer, and so this disaster has happened. It is not the value of the
cattle, Captain Waverley, that vexes me; but my father is so much hurt
at the affront, and is so bold and hot, that I fear he will try to recover
them by the strong hand; and if he is not hurt himself, he will hurt some
of these wild people, and then there will be no peace between them and
us perhaps for our life-time; and we cannot defend ourselves as in old
times, for the government have taken all our arms; and my dear father
is so rash--O what will become of us!'--Here poor Rose lost heart
altogether, and burst into a flood of tears.
The Baron entered at this moment, and rebuked her with more asperity
than Waverley had ever heard him use to any one. 'Was it not a shame,'
he said, 'that she should exhibit herself before any gentleman in such a
light, as if she shed tears for a drove of horned nolt and milch kine, like
the daughter of a Cheshire yeoman!--Captain Waverley, I must request
your favourable construction of her grief, which may, or ought to
proceed, solely from seeing her father's estate exposed to spulzie and
depredation from common thieves and sorners, while we are not
allowed to keep half a score of muskets, whether for defence or rescue.'
Bailie Macwheeble entered immediately afterwards, and by his report
of arms and ammunition confirmed this statement, informing the Baron,
in a melancholy voice, that though the people would certainly obey his
honour's orders, yet there was no chance of their following the gear to
ony guid purpose, in respect there were only his honour's body servants
who had swords and pistols, and the depredators were twelve
Highlanders, completely armed after the manner of their country.
Having delivered this doleful annunciation, he assumed a posture of
silent dejection, shaking his head slowly with the motion of a pendulum
when it is ceasing to vibrate, and then remained stationary, his body
stooping at a more acute angle than usual, and the latter part of his
person projecting in proportion.
The Baron, meanwhile, paced the room in silent indignation, and at
length fixing his eye upon an old portrait, whose person was clad in
armour, and whose features glared grimly out of a huge bush of hair,
part of which descended from his head to his shoulders, and part from
his chin and upper-lip to his breast-plate,--'That gentleman, Captain
Waverley, my grandsire,' he said, 'with two hundred horse,--whom he
levied within his own bounds, discomfited and put to the rout more
than five hundred of these Highland reivers, who have been ever lapis
offensionis et petra scandali, a stumbling-block and a rock of offence,
to the Lowland vicinage--he discomfited them, I say, when they had the
temerity to descend to harry this country, in the time of the civil
dissensions, in the year of grace sixteen hundred forty and two. And
now, sir, I, his grandson, am thus used at such unworthy hands.'
Here there was an awful pause; after which all the company, as is usual
in cases of difficulty, began to give separate and inconsistent counsel.
Alexander ab Alexandro proposed they should send some one to
compound with the Caterans, who would readily, he said, give up their
prey for a dollar a head. The Bailie opined that this transaction would
amount to theft-boot, or composition of felony; and he recommended
that some canny hand should be sent up to the glens to make the best
bargain he could, as it were for himself, so that the Laird might not be
seen in such a transaction. Edward proposed to send off to the nearest
garrison for a party of soldiers and a magistrate's warrant; and Rose, as
far as she dared, endeavoured to insinuate the course of paying the
arrears of tribute money to Fergus Mac-Ivor Vich Ian Vohr, who, they
all knew, could easily procure restoration of the cattle, if he were
properly propitiated.
None of these proposals met the Baron's approbation. The idea of
composition, direct or implied, was absolutely ignominious; that of
Waverley only showed that he did not understand the state of the
country, and of the political parties which divided it; and, standing
matters as they did with Fergus Mac-Ivor Vich Ian Vohr, the Baron
would make no concession to him, were it, he said, 'to procure
restitution in integrum of every stirk and stot that the chief, his
forefathers, and his clan, had stolen since the days of Malcolm
Canmore.'
In fact his voice was still for war, and he proposed to send expresses to
Balmawhapple, Killancureit, Tulliellum, and other lairds, who were
exposed to similar depredations, inviting them to join in the pursuit;
'and then, sir, shall these nebulones nequissimi, as Leslaeus calls them,
be brought to the fate of their predecessor Cacus,
"Elisos oculos, et siccum sanguine guttur."'
The Bailie, who by no means relished these warlike counsels, here
pulled forth an immense watch, of the colour, and nearly of the size, of
a pewter warming-pan, and observed it was now past noon, and that the
Caterans had been seen in the pass of Ballybrough soon after sunrise;
so that, before the allied forces could assemble, they and their prey
would be far beyond the reach of the most active pursuit, and sheltered
in those pathless deserts, where it was neither advisable to follow, nor
indeed possible to trace them.
This proposition was undeniable. The council therefore broke up
without coming to any conclusion, as has occurred to councils of more
importance; only it was determined that the Bailie should send his own
three milkcows down to the mains for the use of the Baron's family,
and brew small ale, as a substitute for milk, in his own. To this
arrangement, which was suggested by Saunderson, the Bailie readily
assented, both from habitual deference to the family, and an internal
consciousness that his courtesy would, in some mode or other, be
repaid tenfold.
The Baron having also retired to give some necessary directions,
Waverley seized the opportunity to ask, whether this Fergus, with the
unpronounceable name, was the chief thief-taker of the district?
'Thief-taker!' answered Rose, laughing; 'he is a gentleman of great
honour and consequence, the chieftain of an independent branch of a
powerful Highland clan, and is much respected, both for his own power
and that of his kith, kin, and allies.'
'And what has he to do with the thieves, then? Is he a magistrate, or in
the commission of the peace?' asked Waverley.
'The commission of war rather, if there be such a thing,' said Rose; 'for
he is a very unquiet neighbour to his unfriends, and keeps a greater
following on foot than many that have thrice his estate. As to his
connection with the thieves, that I cannot well explain; but the boldest
of them will never steal a hoof from any one that pays black-mail to
Vich lan Vohr.'
'And what is black-mail?'
'A sort of protection-money that Low-Country gentlemen and heritors,
lying near the Highlands, pay to some Highland chief, that he may
neither do them harm himself, nor suffer it to be done to them by others;
and then if your cattle are stolen, you have only to send him word, and
he will recover them; or it may be, he will drive away cows from some
distant place, where he has a quarrel, and give them to you to make up
your loss.' [Footnote: See note 13.]
'And is this sort of Highland Jonathan Wild admitted into society, and
called a gentleman?'
'So much so,' said Rose, 'that the quarrel between my father and Fergus
Mac-Ivor began at a county meeting, where he wanted to take
precedence of all the Lowland gentlemen then present, only my father
would not suffer it. And then he upbraided my father that he was under
his banner, and paid him tribute; and my father was in a towering
passion, for Bailie Macwheeble, who manages such things his own way,
had contrived to keep this black-mail a secret from him, and passed it
in his account for cess-money. And they would have fought; but Fergus
Mac-Ivor said, very gallantly, he would never raise his hand against a
grey head that was so much respected as my father's.--O I wish, I wish
they had continued friends!'
'And did you ever see this Mr. Mac-Ivor, if that be his name, Miss
Bradwardine?'
'No, that is not his name; and he would consider MASTER as a sort of
affront, only that you are an Englishman, and know no better. But the
Lowlanders call him, like other gentlemen, by the name of his estate,
Glennaquoich; and the Highlanders call him Vich Ian Vohr, that is, the
son of John the Great; and we upon the braes here call him by both
names indifferently.'
'I am afraid I shall never bring my English tongue to call him by either
one or other.'
'But he is a very polite, handsome man,' continued Rose; 'and his sister
Flora is one of the most beautiful and accomplished young ladies in this
country; she was bred in a convent in France, and was a great friend of
mine before this unhappy dispute. Dear Captain Waverley, try your
influence with my father to make matters up. I am sure this is but the
beginning of our troubles; for Tully-Veolan has never been a safe or
quiet residence when we have been at feud with the Highlanders. When
I was a girl about ten, there was a skirmish fought between a party of
twenty of them and my father and his servants behind the mains; and
the bullets broke several panes in the north windows, they were so near.
Three of the Highlanders were killed, and they brought them in
wrapped in their plaids, and laid them on the stone floor of the hall; and
next morning, their wives and daughters came, clapping their hands,
and crying the coronach, and shrieking, and carried away the dead
bodies, with the pipes playing before them. I could not sleep for six
weeks without starting and thinking I heard these terrible cries, and saw
the bodies lying on the steps, all stiff and swathed up in their bloody
tartans. But since that time there came a party from the garrison at
Stirling, with a warrant from the Lord Justice Clerk, or some such great
man, and took away all our arms; and now, how are we to protect
ourselves if they come down in any strength?'
Waverley could not help starting at a story which bore so much
resemblance to one of his own day-dreams. Here was a girl scarce
seventeen, the gentlest of her sex, both in temper and appearance, who
had witnessed with her own eyes such a scene as he had used to conjure
up in his imagination, as only occurring in ancient times, and spoke of
it coolly, as one very likely to recur. He felt at once the impulse of
curiosity, and that slight sense of danger which only serves to heighten
its interest. He might have said with Malvolio, '"I do not now fool
myself, to let imagination jade me!" I am actually in the land of
military and romantic adventures, and it only remains to be seen what
will be my own share in them.'
The whole circumstances now detailed concerning the state of the
country seemed equally novel and extraordinary. He had indeed often
heard of Highland thieves, but had no idea of the systematic mode in
which their depredations were conducted; and that the practice was
connived at, and even encouraged, by many of the Highland chieftains,
who not only found the creaghs, or forays, useful for the purpose of
training individuals of their clan to the practice of arms, but also of
maintaining a wholesome terror among their Lowland neighbours, and
levying, as we have seen, a tribute from them, under colour of
protection-money.
Bailie Macwheeble, who soon afterwards entered, expatiated still more
at length upon the same topic. This honest gentleman's conversation
was so formed upon his professional practice, that Davie Gellatley once
said his discourse was like a 'charge of horning.' He assured our hero,
that 'from the maist ancient times of record, the lawless thieves,
limmers, and broken men of the Highlands, had been in fellowship
together by reason of their surnames, for the committing of divers
thefts, reifs, and herships upon the honest men of the Low Country,
when they not only intromitted with their whole goods and gear, corn,
cattle, horse, nolt, sheep, outsight and insight plenishing, at their
wicked pleasure, but moreover made prisoners, ransomed them, or
concussed them into giving borrows (pledges) to enter into captivity
again;--all which was directly prohibited in divers parts of the Statute
Book, both by the act one thousand five hundred and sixty-seven, and
various others; the whilk statutes, with all that had followed and might
follow thereupon, were shamefully broken and vilipended by the said
sorners, limmers, and broken men, associated into fellowships, for the
aforesaid purposes of theft, stouthreef, fire-raising, murther, raptus
mulierum, or forcible abduction of women, and such like as aforesaid.'
It seemed like a dream to Waverley that these deeds of violence should
be familiar to men's minds, and currently talked of as falling within the
common order of things, and happening daily in the immediate vicinity,
without his having crossed the seas, and while he was yet in the
otherwise well-ordered island of Great Britain.
CHAPTER XVI
AN UNEXPECTED ALLY APPEARS
The Baron returned at the dinner-hour, and had in a great measure
recovered his composure and good-humour. He not only confirmed the
stories which Edward had heard from Rose and Bailie Macwheeble, but
added many anecdotes from his own experience, concerning the state of
the Highlands and their inhabitants. The chiefs he pronounced to be, in
general, gentlemen of great honour and high pedigree, whose word was
accounted as a law by all those of their own sept, or clan. 'It did not
indeed,' he said, 'become them, as had occurred in late instances, to
propone their prosapia, a lineage which rested for the most part on the
vain and fond rhymes of their seannachies or bhairds, as
aequiponderate with the evidence of ancient charters and royal grants
of antiquity, conferred upon distinguished houses in the Low Country
by divers Scottish monarchs; nevertheless, such was their
outrecuidance and presumption, as to undervalue those who possessed
such evidents, as if they held their lands in a sheep's skin.'
This, by the way, pretty well explained the cause of quarrel between the
Baron and his Highland ally. But he went on to state so many curious
particulars concerning the manners, customs, and habits of this
patriarchal race that Edward's curiosity became highly interested, and
he inquired whether it was possible to make with safety an excursion
into the neighbouring Highlands, whose dusky barrier of mountains had
already excited his wish to penetrate beyond them. The Baron assured
his guest that nothing would be more easy, providing this quarrel were
first made up, since he could himself give him letters to many of the
distinguished chiefs, who would receive him with the utmost courtesy
and hospitality.
While they were on this topic, the door suddenly opened, and, ushered
by Saunders Saunderson, a Highlander, fully armed and equipped,
entered the apartment. Had it not been that Saunders acted the part of
master of the ceremonies to this martial apparition, without appearing
to deviate from his usual composure, and that neither Mr. Bradwardine
nor Rose exhibited any emotion, Edward would certainly have thought
the intrusion hostile. As it was, he started at the sight of what he had
not yet happened to see, a mountaineer in his full national costume. The
individual Gael was a stout, dark, young man, of low stature, the ample
folds of whose plaid added to the appearance of strength which his
person exhibited. The short kilt, or petticoat, showed his sinewy and
clean-made limbs; the goatskin purse, flanked by the usual defences, a
dirk and steel-wrought pistol, hung before him; his bonnet had a short
feather, which indicated his claim to be treated as a duinhe-wassel, or
sort of gentleman; a broadsword dangled by his side, a target hung
upon his shoulder, and a long Spanish fowling-piece occupied one of
his hands. With the other hand he pulled off his bonnet, and the Baron,
who well knew their customs, and the proper mode of addressing them,
immediately said, with an air of dignity, but without rising, and much,
as Edward thought, in the manner of a prince receiving an embassy,
'Welcome, Evan Dhu Maccombich; what news from Fergus Mac-Ivor
Vich lan Vohr?'
'Fergus Mac-Ivor Vich lan Vohr,' said the ambassador, in good English,
'greets you well, Baron of Bradwardine and Tully-Veolan, and is sorry
there has been a thick cloud interposed between you and him, which
has kept you from seeing and considering the friendship and alliances
that have been between your houses and forebears of old; and he prays
you that the cloud may pass away, and that things may be as they have
been heretofore between the clan Ivor and the house of Bradwardine,
when there was an egg between them for a flint and a knife for a sword.
And he expects you will also say, you are sorry for the cloud, and no
man shall hereafter ask whether it descended from the bill to the valley,
or rose from the valley to the hill; for they never struck with the
scabbard who did not receive with the sword, and woe to him who
would lose his friend for the stormy cloud of a spring morning.'
To this the Baron of Bradwardine answered with suitable dignity, that
he knew the chief of Clan Ivor to be a well-wisher to the King, and he
was sorry there should have been a cloud between him and any
gentleman of such sound principles, 'for when folks are banding
together, feeble is he who hath no brother.'
This appearing perfectly satisfactory, that the peace between these
august persons might be duly solemnised, the Baron ordered a stoup of
usquebaugh, and, filling a glass, drank to the health and prosperity of
Mac-Ivor of Glennaquoich; upon which the Celtic ambassador, to
requite his politeness, turned down a mighty bumper of the same
generous liquor, seasoned with his good wishes to the house of
Bradwardine.
Having thus ratified the preliminaries of the general treaty of
pacification, the envoy retired to adjust with Mr. Macwheeble some
subordinate articles with which it was not thought necessary to trouble
the Baron. These probably referred to the discontinuance of the subsidy,
and apparently the Bailie found means to satisfy their ally, without
suffering his master to suppose that his dignity was compromised. At
least, it is certain, that after the plenipotentiaries had drunk a bottle of
brandy in single drams, which seemed to have no more effect upon
such seasoned vessels than if it had been poured upon the two bears at
the top of the avenue, Evan Dhu Maccombich, having possessed
himself of all the information which he could procure respecting the
robbery of the preceding night, declared his intention to set off
immediately in pursuit of the cattle, which he pronounced to be 'no that
far off; they have broken the bone,' he observed, 'but they have had no
tune to suck the marrow.'
Our hero, who had attended Evan Dhu during his perquisitions, was
much struck with the ingenuity which he displayed in collecting
information, and the precise and pointed conclusions which he drew
from it. Evan Dhu, on his part, was obviously flattered with the
attention of Waverley, the interest he seemed to take in his inquiries,
and his curiosity about the customs and scenery of the Highlands.
Without much ceremony he invited Edward to accompany him on a
short walk of ten or fifteen miles into the mountains, and see the place
where the cattle were conveyed to; adding, 'If it be as I suppose, you
never saw such a place in your life, nor ever will, unless you go with
me or the like of me.'
Our hero, feeling his curiosity considerably excited by the idea of
visiting the den of a Highland Cacus, took, however, the precaution to
inquire if his guide might be trusted. He was assured that the invitation
would on no account have been given had there been the least danger,
and that all he had to apprehend was a little fatigue; and, as Evan
proposed he should pass a day at his Chieftain's house in returning,
where he would be sure of good accommodation and an excellent
welcome, there seemed nothing very formidable in the task he
undertook. Rose, indeed, turned pale when she heard of it; but her
father, who loved the spirited curiosity of his young friend, did not
attempt to damp it by an alarm of danger which really did not exist, and
a knapsack, with a few necessaries, being bound on the shoulders of a
sort of deputy gamekeeper, our hero set forth with a fowling-piece in
his hand, accompanied by his new friend Evan Dhu, and followed by
the gamekeeper aforesaid, and by two wild Highlanders, the attendants
of Evan, one of whom had upon his shoulder a hatchet at the end of a
pole, called a Lochaber-axe, [Footnote: See Note 14] and the other a
long ducking-gun. Evan, upon Edward's inquiry, gave him to
understand that this martial escort was by no means necessary as a
guard, but merely, as he said, drawing up and adjusting his plaid with
an air of dignity, that he might appear decently at Tully-Veolan, and as
Vich Ian Vohr's foster-brother ought to do. 'Ah!' said he, 'if you Saxon
duinhe-wassel (English gentleman) saw but the Chief with his tail on!'
'With his tail on?' echoed Edward in some surprise.
'Yes--that is, with all his usual followers, when he visits those of the
same rank. There is,' he continued, stopping and drawing himself
proudly up, while he counted upon his fingers the several officers of his
chief's retinue; 'there is his hanchman, or right-hand man; then his bard,
or poet; then his bladier, or orator, to make harangues to the great folks
whom he visits; then his gilly-more, or armour-bearer, to carry his
sword and target, and his gun; then his gilly-casfliuch, who carries him
on his back through the sikes and brooks; then his gilly-comstrian, to
lead his horse by the bridle in steep and difficult paths; then his
gilly-trushharnish, to carry his knapsack; and the piper and the piper's
man, and it may be a dozen young lads beside, that have no business,
but are just boys of the belt, to follow the Laird and do his honour's
bidding.'
'And does your Chief regularly maintain all these men?' demanded
Waverley.
'All these?' replied Evan; 'ay, and many a fair head beside, that would
not ken where to lay itself, but for the mickle barn at Glennaquoich.'
With similar tales of the grandeur of the Chief in peace and war, Evan
Dhu beguiled the way till they approached more closely those huge
mountains which Edward had hitherto only seen at a distance. It was
towards evening as they entered one of the tremendous passes which
afford communication between the high and low country; the path,
which was extremely steep and rugged, winded up a chasm between
two tremendous rocks, following the passage which a foaming stream,
that brawled far below, appeared to have worn for itself in the course of
ages. A few slanting beams of the sun, which was now setting, reached
the water in its darksome bed, and showed it partially, chafed by a
hundred rocks and broken by a hundred falls. The descent from the path
to the stream was a mere precipice, with here and there a projecting
fragment of granite, or a scathed tree, which had warped its twisted
roots into the fissures of the rock. On the right hand, the mountain rose
above the path with almost equal inaccessibility; but the hill on the
opposite side displayed a shroud of copsewood, with which some pines
were intermingled.
'This,' said Evan, 'is the pass of Bally-Brough, which was kept in
former times by ten of the clan Donnochie against a hundred of the
Low-Country carles. The graves of the slain are still to be seen in that
little corrie, or bottom, on the opposite side of the burn; if your eyes are
good, you may see the green specks among the heather. See, there is an
earn, which you Southrons call an eagle. You have no such birds as that
in England. He is going to fetch his supper from the Laird of
Bradwardine's braes, but I 'll send a slug after him.'
He fired his piece accordingly, but missed the superb monarch of the
feathered tribes, who, without noticing the attempt to annoy him,
continued his majestic flight to the southward. A thousand birds of prey,
hawks, kites, carrion-crows, and ravens, disturbed from the lodgings
which they had just taken up for the evening, rose at the report of the
gun, and mingled their hoarse and discordant notes with the echoes
which replied to it, and with the roar of the mountain cataracts. Evan, a
little disconcerted at having missed his mark, when he meant to have
displayed peculiar dexterity, covered his confusion by whistling part of
a pibroch as he reloaded his piece, and proceeded in silence up the pass.
It issued in a narrow glen, between two mountains, both very lofty and
covered with heath. The brook continued to be their companion, and
they advanced up its mazes, crossing them now and then, on which
occasions Evan Dhu uniformly offered the assistance of his attendants
to carry over Edward; but our hero, who had been always a tolerable
pedestrian, declined the accommodation, and obviously rose in his
guide's opinion, by showing that he did not fear wetting his feet. Indeed
he was anxious, so far as he could without affectation, to remove the
opinion which Evan seemed to entertain of the effeminacy of the
Lowlanders, and particularly of the English.
Through the gorge of this glen they found access to a black bog, of
tremendous extent, full of large pit-holes, which they traversed with
great difficulty and some danger, by tracks which no one but a
Highlander could have followed. The path itself, or rather the portion of
more solid ground on which the travellers half walked, half waded, was
rough, broken, and in many places quaggy and unsound. Sometimes the
ground was so completely unsafe that it was necessary to spring from
one hillock to another, the space between being incapable of bearing
the human weight. This was an easy matter to the Highlanders, who
wore thin-soled brogues fit for the purpose, and moved with a peculiar
springing step; but Edward began to find the exercise, to which he was
unaccustomed, more fatiguing than he expected. The lingering twilight
served to show them through this Serbonian bog, but deserted them
almost totally at the bottom of a steep and very stony hill, which it was
the travellers' next toilsome task to ascend. The night, however, was
pleasant, and not dark; and Waverley, calling up mental energy to
support personal fatigue, held on his march gallantly, though envying
in his heart his Highland attendants, who continued, without a symptom
of abated vigour, the rapid and swinging pace, or rather trot, which,
according to his computation, had already brought them fifteen miles
upon their journey.
After crossing this mountain and descending on the other side towards
a thick wood, Evan Dhu held some conference with his Highland
attendants, in consequence of which Edward's baggage was shifted
from the shoulders of the gamekeeper to those of one of the gillies, and
the former was sent off with the other mountaineer in a direction
different from that of the three remaining travellers. On asking the
meaning of this separation, Waverley was told that the Lowlander must
go to a hamlet about three miles off for the night; for unless it was
some very particular friend, Donald Bean Lean, the worthy person
whom they supposed to be possessed of the cattle, did not much
approve of strangers approaching his retreat. This seemed reasonable,
and silenced a qualm of suspicion which came across Edward's mind
when he saw himself, at such a place and such an hour, deprived of his
only Lowland companion. And Evan immediately afterwards
added,'that indeed he himself had better get forward, and announce
their approach to Donald Bean Lean, as the arrival of a sidier roy (red
soldier) might otherwise be a disagreeable surprise.' And without
waiting for an answer, in jockey phrase, he trotted out, and putting
himself to a very round pace, was out of sight in an instant.
Waverley was now left to his own meditations, for his attendant with
the battle-axe spoke very little English. They were traversing a thick,
and, as it seemed, an endless wood of pines, and consequently the path
was altogether indiscernible in the murky darkness which surrounded
them. The Highlander, however, seemed to trace it by instinct, without
the hesitation of a moment, and Edward followed his footsteps as close
as he could.
After journeying a considerable time in silence, he could not help
asking, 'Was it far to the end of their journey?'
'Ta cove was tree, four mile; but as duinhe-wassel was a wee taiglit,
Donald could, tat is, might--would--should send ta curragh.'
This conveyed no information. The curragh which was promised might
be a man, a horse, a cart, or chaise; and no more could be got from the
man with the battle-axe but a repetition of 'Aich ay! ta curragh.'
But in a short time Edward began to conceive his meaning, when,
issuing from the wood, he found himself on the banks of a large river
or lake, where his conductor gave him to understand they must sit
down for a little while. The moon, which now began to rise, showed
obscurely the expanse of water which spread before them, and the
shapeless and indistinct forms of mountains with which it seemed to be
surrounded. The cool and yet mild air of the summer night refreshed
Waverley after his rapid and toilsome walk; and the perfume which it
wafted from the birch trees, [Footnote: It is not the weeping birch, the
most common species in the Highlands, but the woolly-leaved Lowland
birch, that is distinguished by this fragrance.] bathed in the evening
dew, was exquisitely fragrant.
He had now time to give himself up to the full romance of his situation.
Here he sate on the banks of an unknown lake, under the guidance of a
wild native, whose language was unknown to him, on a visit to the den
of some renowned outlaw, a second Robin Hood, perhaps, or Adam o'
Gordon, and that at deep midnight, through scenes of difficulty and toil,
separated from his attendant, left by his guide. What a variety of
incidents for the exercise of a romantic imagination, and all enhanced
by the solemn feeling of uncertainty at least, if not of danger! The only
circumstance which assorted ill with the rest was the cause of his
journey--the Baron's milk-cows! this degrading incident he kept in the
background.
While wrapt in these dreams of imagination, his companion gently
touched him, and, pointing in a direction nearly straight across the lake,
said, 'Yon's ta cove.' A small point of light was seen to twinkle in the
direction in which he pointed, and, gradually increasing in size and
lustre, seemed to flicker like a meteor upon the verge of the horizon.
While Edward watched this phenomenon, the distant dash of oars was
heard. The measured sound approached near and more near, and
presently a loud whistle was heard in the same direction. His friend
with the battle-axe immediately whistled clear and shrill, in reply to the
signal, and a boat, manned with four or five Highlanders, pushed for a
little inlet, near which Edward was sitting. He advanced to meet them
with his attendant, was immediately assisted into the boat by the
officious attention of two stout mountaineers, and had no sooner seated
himself than they resumed their oars, and began to row across the lake
with great rapidity.
CHAPTER XVII
THE HOLD OF A HIGHLAND ROBBER
The party preserved silence, interrupted only by the monotonous and
murmured chant of a Gaelic song, sung in a kind of low recitative by
the steersman, and by the dash of the oars, which the notes seemed to
regulate, as they dipped to them in cadence. The light, which they now
approached more nearly, assumed a broader, redder and more irregular
splendour. It appeared plainly to be a large fire, but whether kindled
upon an island or the mainland Edward could not determine. As he saw
it, the red glaring orb seemed to rest on the very surface of the lake
itself, and resembled the fiery vehicle in which the Evil Genius of an
Oriental tale traverses land and sea. They approached nearer, and the
light of the fire sufficed to show that it was kindled at the bottom of a
huge dark crag or rock, rising abruptly from the very edge of the water;
its front, changed by the reflection to dusky red, formed a strange and
even awful contrast to the banks around, which were from time to time
faintly and partially illuminated by pallid moonlight.
The boat now neared the shore, and Edward could discover that this
large fire, amply supplied with branches of pine-wood by two figures,
who, in the red reflection of its light, appeared like demons, was
kindled in the jaws of a lofty cavern, into which an inlet from the lake
seemed to advance; and he conjectured, which was indeed true, that the
fire had been lighted as a beacon to the boatmen on their return. They
rowed right for the mouth of the cave, and then, shifting their oars,
permitted the boat to enter in obedience to the impulse which it had
received. The skiff passed the little point or platform of rock on which
the fire was blazing, and running about two boats' lengths farther,
stopped where the cavern (for it was already arched overhead)
ascended from the water by five or six broad ledges of rock, so easy
and regular that they might be termed natural steps. At this moment a
quantity of water was suddenly flung upon the fire, which sunk with a
hissing noise, and with it disappeared the light it had hitherto afforded.
Four or five active arms lifted Waverley out of the boat, placed him on
his feet, and almost carried him into the recesses of the cave. He made
a few paces in darkness, guided in this manner; and advancing towards
a hum of voices, which seemed to sound from the centre of the rock, at
an acute turn Donald Bean Lean and his whole establishment were
before his eyes.
The interior of the cave, which here rose very high, was illuminated by
torches made of pine-tree, which emitted a bright and bickering light,
attended by a strong though not unpleasant odour. Their light was
assisted by the red glare of a large charcoal fire, round which were
seated five or six armed Highlanders, while others were indistinctly
seen couched on their plaids in the more remote recesses of the cavern.
In one large aperture, which the robber facetiously called his SPENCE
(or pantry), there hung by the heels the carcasses of a sheep, or ewe,
and two cows lately slaughtered. The principal inhabitant of this
singular mansion, attended by Evan Dhu as master of the ceremonies,
came forward to meet his guest, totally different in appearance and
manner from what his imagination had anticipated. The profession
which he followed, the wilderness in which he dwelt, the wild warrior
forms that surrounded him, were all calculated to inspire terror. From
such accompaniments, Waverley prepared himself to meet a stern,
gigantic, ferocious figure, such as Salvator would have chosen to be the
central object of a group of banditti. [Footnote: See Note 15.]
Donald Bean Lean was the very reverse of all these. He was thin in
person and low in stature, with light sandy-coloured hair, and small
pale features, from which he derived his agnomen of BEAN or white;
and although his form was light, well proportioned and active, he
appeared, on the whole, rather a diminutive and insignificant figure. He
had served in some inferior capacity in the French army, and in order to
receive his English visitor in great form, and probably meaning, in his
way, to pay him a compliment, he had laid aside the Highland dress for
the time, to put on an old blue and red uniform and a feathered hat, in
which he was far from showing to advantage, and indeed looked so
incongruous, compared with all around him, that Waverley would have
been tempted to laugh, had laughter been either civil or safe. The
robber received Captain Waverley with a profusion of French
politeness and Scottish hospitality, seemed perfectly to know his name
and connections, and to be particularly acquainted with his uncle's
political principles. On these he bestowed great applause, to which
Waverley judged it prudent to make a very general reply.
Being placed at a convenient distance from the charcoal fire, the heat of
which the season rendered oppressive, a strapping Highland damsel
placed before Waverley, Evan, and Donald Bean three cogues, or
wooden vessels composed of staves and hoops, containing eanaruich,
[Footnote: This was the regale presented by Rob Roy to the Laird of
Tullibody.] a sort of strong soup, made out of a particular part of the
inside of the beeves. After this refreshment, which, though coarse,
fatigue and hunger rendered palatable, steaks, roasted on the coals,
were supplied in liberal abundance, and disappeared before Evan Dhu
and their host with a promptitude that seemed like magic, and
astonished Waverley, who was much puzzled to reconcile their voracity
with what he had heard of the abstemiousness of the Highlanders. He
was ignorant that this abstinence was with the lower ranks wholly
compulsory, and that, like some animals of prey, those who practise it
were usually gifted with the power of indemnifying themselves to good
purpose when chance threw plenty in their way. The whisky came forth
in abundance to crown the cheer. The Highlanders drank it copiously
and undiluted; but Edward, having mixed a little with water, did not
find it so palatable as to invite him to repeat the draught. Their host
bewailed himself exceedingly that he could offer him no wine: 'Had he
but known four-and-twenty hours before, he would have had some, had
it been within the circle of forty miles round him. But no gentleman
could do more to show his sense of the honour of a visit from another
than to offer him the best cheer his house afforded. Where there are no
bushes there can be no nuts, and the way of those you live with is that
you must follow,'
He went on regretting to Evan Dhu the death of an aged man,
Donnacha an Amrigh, or Duncan with the Cap, 'a gifted seer,' who
foretold, through the second sight, visitors of every description who
haunted their dwelling, whether as friends or foes.
'Is not his son Malcolm taishatr (a second-sighted person)?' asked Evan.
'Nothing equal to his father,' replied Donald Bean. 'He told us the other
day, we were to see a great gentleman riding on a horse, and there came
nobody that whole day but Shemus Beg, the blind harper, with his dog.
Another time he advertised us of a wedding, and behold it proved a
funeral; and on the creagh, when he foretold to us we should bring
home a hundred head of horned cattle, we gripped nothing but a fat
bailie of Perth.'
From this discourse he passed to the political and military state of the
country; and Waverley was astonished, and even alarmed, to find a
person of this description so accurately acquainted with the strength of
the various garrisons and regiments quartered north of the Tay. He even
mentioned the exact number of recruits who had joined Waverley's
troop from his uncle's estate, and observed they were PRETTY MEN,
meaning, not handsome, but stout warlike fellows. He put Waverley in
mind of one or two minute circumstances which had happened at a
general review of the regiment, which satisfied him that the robber had
been an eye-witness of it; and Evan Dhu having by this time retired
from the conversation, and wrapped himself up in his plaid to take
some repose, Donald asked Edward, in a very significant manner,
whether he had nothing particular to say to him.
Waverley, surprised and somewhat startled at this question from such a
character, answered, he had no motive in visiting him but curiosity to
see his extraordinary place of residence. Donald Bean Lean looked him
steadily in the face for an instant, and then said, with a significant nod,
'You might as well have confided in me; I am as much worthy of trust
as either the Baron of Bradwardine or Vich Ian Vohr. But you are
equally welcome to my house.'
Waverley felt an involuntary shudder creep over him at the mysterious
language held by this outlawed and lawless bandit, which, in despite of
his attempts to master it, deprived him of the power to ask the meaning
of his insinuations. A heath pallet, with the flowers stuck uppermost,
had been prepared for him in a recess of the cave, and here, covered
with such spare plaids as could be mustered, he lay for some time
watching the motions of the other inhabitants of the cavern. Small
parties of two or three entered or left the place, without any other
ceremony than a few words in Gaelic to the principal outlaw, and,
when he fell asleep, to a tall Highlander who acted as his lieutenant,
and seemed to keep watch during his repose. Those who entered
seemed to have returned from some excursion, of which they reported
the success, and went without farther ceremony to the larder, where,
cutting with their dirks their rations from the carcasses which were
there suspended, they proceeded to broil and eat them at their own
pleasure and leisure. The liquor was under strict regulation, being
served out either by Donald himself, his lieutenant, or the strapping
Highland girl aforesaid, who was the only female that appeared. The
allowance of whisky, however, would have appeared prodigal to any
but Highlanders, who, living entirely in the open air and in a very moist
climate, can consume great quantities of ardent spirits without the usual
baneful effects either upon the brain or constitution.
At length the fluctuating groups began to swim before the eyes of our
hero as they gradually closed; nor did he re-open them till the morning
sun was high on the lake without, though there was but a faint and
glimmering twilight in the recesses of Uaimh an Ri, or the King's
Cavern, as the abode of Donald Bean Lean was proudly denominated.
CHAPTER XVIII
WAVERLEY PROCEEDS ON HIS JOURNEY
When Edward had collected his scattered recollection, he was surprised
to observe the cavern totally deserted. Having arisen and put his dress
in some order, he looked more accurately round him; but all was still
solitary. If it had not been for the decayed brands of the fire, now sunk
into grey ashes, and the remnants of the festival, consisting of bones
half burnt and half gnawed, and an empty keg or two, there remained
no traces of Donald and his band. When Waverley sallied forth to the
entrance of the cave, he perceived that the point of rock, on which
remained the marks of last night's beacon, was accessible by a small
path, either natural or roughly hewn in the rock, along the little inlet of
water which ran a few yards up into the cavern, where, as in a wetdock,
the skiff which brought him there the night before was still lying
moored. When he reached the small projecting platform on which the
beacon had been established, he would have believed his further
progress by land impossible, only that it was scarce probable but what
the inhabitants of the cavern had some mode of issuing from it
otherwise than by the lake. Accordingly, he soon observed three or four
shelving steps, or ledges of rock, at the very extremity of the little
platform; and, making use of them as a staircase, he clambered by their
means around the projecting shoulder of the crag on which the cavern
opened, and, descending with some difficulty on the other side, he
gained the wild and precipitous shores of a Highland loch, about four
miles in length and a mile and a half across, surrounded by heathy and
savage mountains, on the crests of which the morning mist was still
sleeping.
Looking back to the place from which he came, he could not help
admiring the address which had adopted a retreat of such seclusion and
secrecy. The rock, round the shoulder of which he had turned by a few
imperceptible notches, that barely afforded place for the foot, seemed,
in looking back upon it, a huge precipice, which barred all further
passage by the shores of the lake in that direction. There could be no
possibility, the breadth of the lake considered, of descrying the entrance
of the narrow and low-browed cave from the other side; so that, unless
the retreat had been sought for with boats, or disclosed by treachery, it
might be a safe and secret residence to its garrison as long as they were
supplied with provisions. Having satisfied his curiosity in these
particulars, Waverley looked around for Evan Dhu and his attendants,
who, he rightly judged, would be at no great distance, whatever might
have become of Donald Bean Lean and his party, whose mode of life
was, of course, liable to sudden migrations of abode. Accordingly, at
the distance of about half a mile, he beheld a Highlander (Evan
apparently) angling in the lake, with another attending him, whom,
from the weapon which he shouldered, he recognised for his friend
with the battle-axe.
Much nearer to the mouth of the cave he heard the notes of a lively
Gaelic song, guided by which, in a sunny recess, shaded by a glittering
birch-tree, and carpeted with a bank of firm white sand, he found the
damsel of the cavern, whose lay had already reached him, busy, to the
best of her power, in arranging to advantage a morning repast of milk,
eggs, barley-bread, fresh butter, and honey-comb. The poor girl had
already made a circuit of four miles that morning in search of the eggs,
of the meal which baked her cakes, and of the other materials of the
breakfast, being all delicacies which she had to beg or borrow from
distant cottagers. The followers of Donald Bean Lean used little food
except the flesh of the animals which they drove away from the
Lowlands; bread itself was a delicacy seldom thought of, because hard
to be obtained, and all the domestic accommodations of milk, poultry,
butter, etc., were out of the question in this Scythian camp. Yet it must
not be omitted that, although Alice had occupied a part of the morning
in providing those accommodations for her guest which the cavern did
not afford, she had secured time also to arrange her own person in her
best trim. Her finery was very simple. A short russet-coloured jacket
and a petticoat of scanty longitude was her whole dress; but these were
clean, and neatly arranged. A piece of scarlet embroidered cloth, called
the snood, confined her hair, which fell over it in a profusion of rich
dark curls. The scarlet plaid, which formed part of her dress, was laid
aside, that it might not impede her activity in attending the stranger. I
should forget Alice's proudest ornament were I to omit mentioning a
pair of gold ear-rings and a golden rosary, which her father (for she was
the daughter of Donald Bean Lean) had brought from France, the
plunder, probably, of some battle or storm.
Her form, though rather large for her years, was very well proportioned,
and her demeanour had a natural and rustic grace, with nothing of the
sheepishness of an ordinary peasant. The smiles, displaying a row of
teeth of exquisite whiteness, and the laughing eyes, with which, in
dumb show, she gave Waverley that morning greeting which she
wanted English words to express, might have been interpreted by a
coxcomb, or perhaps by a young soldier who, without being such, was
conscious of a handsome person, as meant to convey more than the
courtesy of an hostess. Nor do I take it upon me to say that the little
wild mountaineer would have welcomed any staid old gentleman
advanced in life, the Baron of Bradwardine, for example, with the
cheerful pains which she bestowed upon Edward's accommodation. She
seemed eager to place him by the meal which she had so sedulously
arranged, and to which she now added a few bunches of cranberries,
gathered in an adjacent morass. Having had the satisfaction of seeing
him seated at his breakfast, she placed herself demurely upon a stone at
a few yards' distance, and appeared to watch with great complacency
for some opportunity of serving him.
Evan and his attendant now returned slowly along the beach, the latter
bearing a large salmon-trout, the produce of the morning's sport,
together with the angling-rod, while Evan strolled forward, with an
easy, self-satisfied, and important gait, towards the spot where
Waverley was so agreeably employed at the breakfast-table. After
morning greetings had passed on both sides, and Evan, looking at
Waverley, had said something in Gaelic to Alice, which made her laugh,
yet colour up to her eyes, through a complexion well en-browned by
sun and wind, Evan intimated his commands that the fish should be
prepared for breakfast. A spark from the lock of his pistol produced a
light, and a few withered fir branches were quickly in flame, and as
speedily reduced to hot embers, on which the trout was broiled in large
slices. To crown the repast, Evan produced from the pocket of his short
jerkin a large scallop shell, and from under the folds of his plaid a ram's
horn full of whisky. Of this he took a copious dram, observing he had
already taken his MORNING with Donald Bean Lean before his
departure; he offered the same cordial to Alice and to Edward, which
they both declined. With the bounteous air of a lord, Evan then
proffered the scallop to Dugald Mahony, his attendant, who, without
waiting to be asked a second time, drank it off with great gusto. Evan
then prepared to move towards the boat, inviting Waverley to attend
him. Meanwhile, Alice had made up in a small basket what she thought
worth removing, and flinging her plaid around her, she advanced up to
Edward, and with the utmost simplicity, taking hold of his hand,
offered her cheek to his salute, dropping at the same time her little
curtsy. Evan, who was esteemed a wag among the mountain fair,
advanced as if to secure a similar favour; but Alice, snatching up her
basket, escaped up the rocky bank as fleetly as a roe, and, turning round
and laughing, called something out to him in Gaelic, which he
answered in the same tone and language; then, waving her hand to
Edward, she resumed her road, and was soon lost among the thickets,
though they continued for some time to hear her lively carol, as she
proceeded gaily on her solitary journey.
They now again entered the gorge of the cavern, and stepping into the
boat, the Highlander pushed off, and, taking advantage of the morning
breeze, hoisted a clumsy sort of sail, while Evan assumed the helm,
directing their course, as it appeared to Waverley, rather higher up the
lake than towards the place of his embarkation on the preceding night.
As they glided along the silver mirror, Evan opened the conversation
with a panegyric upon Alice, who, he said, was both CANNY and
FENDY; and was, to the boot of all that, the best dancer of a strathspey
in the whole strath. Edward assented to her praises so far as he
understood them, yet could not help regretting that she was condemned
to such a perilous and dismal life.
'Oich! for that,' said Evan, 'there is nothing in Perthshire that she need
want, if she ask her father to fetch it, unless it be too hot or too heavy.'
'But to be the daughter of a cattle-stealer--a common thief!' 'Common
thief!--no such thing: Donald Bean Lean never LIFTED less than a
drove in his life.'
'Do you call him an uncommon thief, then?'
'No; he that steals a cow from a poor widow, or a stirk from a cotter, is
a thief; he that lifts a drove from a Sassenach laird is a
gentleman-drover. And, besides, to take a tree from the forest, a salmon
from the river, a deer from the hill, or a cow from a Lowland strath, is
what no Highlander need ever think shame upon.'
'But what can this end in, were he taken in such an appropriation?'
'To be sure he would DIE FOR THE LAW, as many a pretty man has
done before him.'
'Die for the law!'
'Ay; that is, with the law, or by the law; be strapped up on the KIND
gallows of Crieff, [Footnote: See Note 16.] where his father died, and
his goodsire died, and where I hope he'll live to die himsell, if he's not
shot, or slashed, in a creagh.'
'You HOPE such a death for your friend, Evan?'
'And that do I e'en; would you have me wish him to die on a bundle of
wet straw in yon den of his, like a mangy tyke?'
'But what becomes of Alice, then?'
'Troth, if such an accident were to happen, as her father would not need
her help ony langer, I ken nought to hinder me to marry her mysell.'
'Gallantly resolved,' said Edward; 'but, in the meanwhile, Evan, what
has your father-in-law (that shall be, if he have the good fortune to be
hanged) done with the Baron's cattle?'
'Oich,' answered Evan,'they were all trudging before your lad and Allan
Kennedy before the sun blinked ower Ben Lawers this morning; and
they'll be in the pass of Bally-Brough by this time, in their way back to
the parks of Tully-Veolan, all but two, that were unhappily slaughtered
before I got last night to Uaimh an Ri.'
'And where are we going, Evan, if I may be so bold as to ask?' said
Waverley.
'Where would you be ganging, but to the Laird's ain house of
Glennaquoich? Ye would not think to be in his country, without
ganging to see him? It would be as much as a man's life's worth.'
'And are we far from Glennaquoich?'
'But five bits of miles; and Vich Ian Vohr will meet us.'
In about half an hour they reached the upper end of the lake, where,
after landing Waverley, the two Highanders drew the boat into a little
creek among thick flags and reeds, where it lay perfectly concealed.
The oars they put in another place of concealment, both for the use of
Donald Bean Lean probably, when his occasions should next bring him
to that place.
The travellers followed for some time a delightful opening into the hills,
down which a little brook found its way to the lake. When they had
pursued their walk a short distance, Waverley renewed his questions
about their host of the cavern.
'Does he always reside in that cave?'
'Out, no! it's past the skill of man to tell where he's to be found at a'
times; there's not a dern nook, or cove, or corrie, in the whole country
that he's not acquainted with.'
'And do others beside your master shelter him?'
'My master? MY master is in Heaven,' answered Evan, haughtily; and
then immediately assuming his usual civility of manner, 'but you mean
my Chief;--no, he does not shelter Donald Bean Lean, nor any that are
like him; he only allows him (with a smile) wood and water.'
'No great boon, I should think, Evan, when both seem to be very
plenty.'
'Ah! but ye dinna see through it. When I say wood and water, I mean
the loch and the land; and I fancy Donald would be put till 't if the
Laird were to look for him wi' threescore men in the wood of Kailychat
yonder; and if our boats, with a score or twa mair, were to come down
the loch to Uaimh an Ri, headed by mysell, or ony other pretty man.'
'But suppose a strong party came against him from the Low Country,
would not your Chief defend him?'
'Na, he would not ware the spark of a flint for him--if they came with
the law.'
'And what must Donald do, then?'
'He behoved to rid this country of himsell, and fall back, it may be,
over the mount upon Letter Scriven.'
'And if he were pursued to that place?'
'I'se warrant he would go to his cousin's at Rannoch.'
'Well, but if they followed him to Rannoch?'
'That,' quoth Evan, 'is beyond all belief; and, indeed, to tell you the
truth, there durst not a Lowlander in all Scotland follow the fray a
gun-shot beyond Bally-Brough, unless he had the help of the Sidier
Dhu.'
'Whom do you call so?'
'The Sidier Dhu? the black soldier; that is what they call the
independent companies that were raised to keep peace and law in the
Highlands. Vich Ian Vohr commanded one of them for five years, and I
was sergeant mysell, I shall warrant ye. They call them Sidier Dhu
because they wear the tartans, as they call your men--King George's
men--Sidier Roy, or red soldiers.'
'Well, but when you were in King George's pay, Evan, you were surely
King George's soldiers?'
'Troth, and you must ask Vich Ian Vohr about that; for we are for his
king, and care not much which o' them it is. At ony rate, nobody can
say we are King George's men now, when we have not seen his pay this
twelve-month.'
This last argument admitted of no reply, nor did Edward attempt any;
he rather chose to bring back the discourse to Donald Bean Lean. 'Does
Donald confine himself to cattle, or does he LIFT, as you call it,
anything else that comes in his way?'
'Troth, he's nae nice body, and he'll just tak onything, but most readily
cattle, horse, or live Christians; for sheep are slow of travel, and inside
plenishing is cumbrous to carry, and not easy to put away for siller in
this country.'
'But does he carry off men and women?'
'Out, ay. Did not ye hear him speak o' the Perth bailie? It cost that body
five hundred merks ere he got to the south of Bally-Brough. And ance
Donald played a pretty sport. [Footnote: See Note 17.] There was to be
a blythe bridal between the Lady Cramfeezer, in the howe o' the
Mearns (she was the auld laird's widow, and no sae young as she had
been hersell), and young Gilliewhackit, who had spent his heirship and
movables, like a gentleman, at cock-matches, bull-baitings, horse-races,
and the like. Now, Donald Bean Lean, being aware that the bridegroom
was in request, and wanting to cleik the cunzie (that is, to hook the
siller), he cannily carried off Gilliewhackit ae night when he was riding
dovering hame (wi' the malt rather abune the meal), and with the help
of his gillies he gat him into the hills with the speed of light, and the
first place he wakened in was the cove of Uaimh an Ri. So there was
old to do about ransoming the bridegroom; for Donald would not lower
a farthing of a thousand punds--'
'The devil!'
'Punds Scottish, ye shall understand. And the lady had not the siller if
she had pawned her gown; and they applied to the governor o' Stirling
castle, and to the major o' the Black Watch; and the governor said it
was ower far to the northward, and out of his district; and the major
said his men were gane hame to the shearing, and he would not call
them out before the victual was got in for all the Cramfeezers in
Christendom, let alane the Mearns, for that it would prejudice the
country. And in the meanwhile ye'll no hinder Gilliewhackit to take the
small-pox. There was not the doctor in Perth or Stirling would look
near the poor lad; and I cannot blame them, for Donald had been
misguggled by ane of these doctors about Paris, and he swore he would
fling the first into the loch that he catched beyond the pass. However
some cailliachs (that is, old women) that were about Donald's hand
nursed Gilliewhackit sae weel that, between the free open air in the
cove and the fresh whey, deil an he did not recover maybe as weel as if
he had been closed in a glazed chamber and a bed with curtains, and
fed with red wine and white meat. And Donald was sae vexed about it
that, when he was stout and weel, he even sent him free home, and said
he would be pleased with onything they would like to gie him for the
plague and trouble which he had about Gilliewhackit to an unkenn'd
degree. And I cannot tell you precisely how they sorted; but they
agreed sae right that Donald was invited to dance at the wedding in his
Highland trews, and they said that there was never sae meikle siller
clinked in his purse either before or since. And to the boot of all that,
Gilliewhackit said that, be the evidence what it liked, if he had the luck
to be on Donald's inquest, he would bring him in guilty of nothing
whatever, unless it were wilful arson or murder under trust.'
With such bald and disjointed chat Evan went on illustrating the
existing state of the Highlands, more perhaps to the amusement of
Waverley than that of our readers. At length, after having marched over
bank and brae, moss and heather, Edward, though not unacquainted
with the Scottish liberality in computing distance, began to think that
Evan's five miles were nearly doubled. His observation on the large
measure which the Scottish allowed of their land, in comparison to the
computation of their money, was readily answered by Evan with the
old jest, 'The deil take them wha have the least pint stoup.'
[Footnote: The Scotch are liberal in computing their land and liquor;
the Scottish pint corresponds to two English quarts. As for their coin,
every one knows the couplet-How can the rogues pretend to sense? Their pound is only twenty
pence.]
And now the report of a gun was heard, and a sportsman was seen, with
his dogs and attendant, at the upper end of the glen. 'Shough,' said
Dugald Mahony, 'tat's ta Chief.'
'It is not,' said Evan, imperiously. 'Do you think he would come to meet
a Sassenach duinhe-wassel in such a way as that?'
But as they approached a little nearer, he said, with an appearance of
mortification, 'And it is even he, sure enough; and he has not his tail on
after all; there is no living creature with him but Callum Beg.'
In fact, Fergus Mac-Ivor, of whom a Frenchman might have said as
truly as of any man in the Highlands, 'Qu'il connoit bien ses gens' had
no idea of raising himself in the eyes of an English young man of
fortune by appearing with a retinue of idle Highlanders disproportioned
to the occasion. He was well aware that such an unnecessary attendance
would seem to Edward rather ludicrous than respectable; and, while
few men were more attached to ideas of chieftainship and feudal power,
he was, for that very reason, cautious of exhibiting external marks of
dignity, unless at the time and in the manner when they were most
likely to produce an imposing effect. Therefore, although, had he been
to receive a brother chieftain, he would probably have been attended by
all that retinue which Evan described with so much unction, he judged
it more respectable to advance to meet Waverley with a single attendant,
a very handsome Highland boy, who carried his master's
shooting-pouch and his broadsword, without which he seldom went
abroad.
When Fergus and Waverley met, the latter was struck with the peculiar
grace and dignity of the Chieftain's figure. Above the middle size and
finely proportioned, the Highland dress, which he wore in its simplest
mode, set off his person to great advantage. He wore the trews, or close
trowsers, made of tartan, chequed scarlet and white; in other particulars
his dress strictly resembled Evan's, excepting that he had no weapon
save a dirk, very richly mounted with silver. His page, as we have said,
carried his claymore; and the fowling-piece, which he held in his hand,
seemed only designed for sport. He had shot in the course of his walk
some young wild-ducks, as, though CLOSE TIME was then unknown,
the broods of grouse were yet too young for the sportsman. His
countenance was decidedly Scottish, with all the peculiarities of the
northern physiognomy, but yet had so little of its harshness and
exaggeration that it would have been pronounced in any country
extremely handsome. The martial air of the bonnet, with a single
eagle's feather as a distinction, added much to the manly appearance of
his head, which was besides ornamented with a far more natural and
graceful cluster of close black curls than ever were exposed to sale in
Bond Street.
An air of openness and affability increased the favorable impression
derived from this handsome and dignified exterior. Yet a skilful
physiognomist would have been less satisfied with the countenance on
the second than on the first view. The eyebrow and upper lip bespoke
something of the habit of peremptory command and decisive
superiority. Even his courtesy, though open, frank, and unconstrained,
seemed to indicate a sense of personal importance; and, upon any check
or accidental excitation, a sudden, though transient lour of the eye
showed a hasty, haughty, and vindictive temper, not less to be dreaded
because it seemed much under its owner's command. In short, the
countenance of the Chieftain resembled a smiling summer's day, in
which, notwithstanding, we are made sensible by certain, though slight
signs that it may thunder and lighten before the close of evening.
It was not, however, upon their first meeting that Edward had an
opportunity of making these less favourable remarks. The Chief
received him as a friend of the Baron of Bradwardine, with the utmost
expression of kindness and obligation for the visit; upbraided him
gently with choosing so rude an abode as he had done the night before;
and entered into a lively conversation with him about Donald Bean's
housekeeping, but without the least hint as to his predatory habits, or
the immediate occasion of Waverley's visit, a topic which, as the Chief
did not introduce it, our hero also avoided. While they walked merrily
on towards the house of Glennaquoich, Evan, who now fell respectfully
into the rear, followed with Callum Beg and Dugald Mahony.
We shall take the opportunity to introduce the reader to some
particulars of Fergus Mac-Ivor's character and history, which were not
completely known to Waverley till after a connection which, though
arising from a circumstance so casual, had for a length of time the
deepest influence upon his character, actions, and prospects. But this,
being an important subject, must form the commencement of a new
chapter.
CHAPTER XIX
THE CHIEF AND HIS MANSION
The ingenious licentiate Francisco de Ubeda, when he commenced his
history of 'La Picara Justina Diez,'--which, by the way, is one of the
most rare books of Spanish literature,--complained of his pen having
caught up a hair, and forthwith begins, with more eloquence than
common sense, an affectionate expostulation with that useful
implement, upbraiding it with being the quill of a goose,--a bird
inconstant by nature, as frequenting the three elements of water, earth,
and air indifferently, and being, of course, 'to one thing constant never.'
Now I protest to thee, gentle reader, that I entirely dissent from
Francisco de Ubeda in this matter, and hold it the most useful quality of
my pen, that it can speedily change from grave to gay, and from
description and dialogue to narrative and character. So that if my quill
display no other properties of its mother-goose than her mutability,
truly I shall be well pleased; and I conceive that you, my worthy friend,
will have no occasion for discontent. From the jargon, therefore, of the
Highland gillies I pass to the character of their Chief. It is an important
examination, and therefore, like Dogberry, we must spare no wisdom.
The ancestor of Fergus Mac-Ivor, about three centuries before, had set
up a claim to be recognised as chief of the numerous and powerful clan
to which he belonged, the name of which it is unnecessary to mention.
Being defeated by an opponent who had more justice, or at least more
force, on his side, he moved southwards, with those who adhered to
him, in quest of new settlements, like a second AEneas. The state of the
Perthshire Highlands favoured his purpose. A great baron in that
country had lately become traitor to the crown; Ian, which was the
name of our adventurer, united himself with those who were
commissioned by the king to chastise him, and did such good service
that he obtained a grant of the property, upon which he and his
posterity afterwards resided. He followed the king also in war to the
fertile regions of England, where he employed his leisure hours so
actively in raising subsidies among the boors of Northumberland and
Durham, that upon his return he was enabled to erect a stone tower, or
fortalice, so much admired by his dependants and neighbours that he,
who had hitherto been called Ian Mac-Ivor, or John the son of Ivor, was
thereafter distinguished, both in song and genealogy, by the high title
of Ian nan Chaistel, or John of the Tower. The descendants of this
worthy were so proud of him that the reigning chief always bore the
patronymic title of Vich Ian Vohr, i.e. the son of John the Great; while
the clan at large, to distinguish them from that from which they had
seceded, were denominated Sliochd nan Ivor, the race of Ivor.
The father of Fergus, the tenth in direct descent from John of the Tower,
engaged heart and hand in the insurrection of 1715, and was forced to
fly to France, after the attempt of that year in favour of the Stuarts had
proved unsuccessful. More fortunate than other fugitives, he obtained
employment in the French service, and married a lady of rank in that
kingdom, by whom he had two children, Fergus and his sister Flora.
The Scottish estate had been forfeited and exposed to sale, but was
repurchased for a small price in the name of the young proprietor, who
in consequence came to reside upon his native domains. [Footnote: See
Note 18.] It was soon perceived that he possessed a character of
uncommon acuteness, fire, and ambition, which, as he became
acquainted with the state of the country, gradually assumed a mixed
and peculiar tone, that could only have been acquired Sixty Years
Since.
Had Fergus Mac-Ivor lived Sixty Years sooner than he did, he would in
all probability have wanted the polished manner and knowledge of the
world which he now possessed; and had he lived Sixty Years later, his
ambition and love of rule would have lacked the fuel which his
situation now afforded. He was indeed, within his little circle, as
perfect a politician as Castruccio Castracani himself. He applied
himself with great earnestness to appease all the feuds and dissensions
which often arose among other clans in his neighbourhood, so that he
became a frequent umpire in their quarrels. His own patriarchal power
he strengthened at every expense which his fortune would permit, and
indeed stretched his means to the uttermost to maintain the rude and
plentiful hospitality which was the most valued attribute of a chieftain.
For the same reason he crowded his estate with a tenantry, hardy indeed,
and fit for the purposes of war, but greatly outnumbering what the soil
was calculated to maintain. These consisted chiefly of his own clan, not
one of whom he suffered to quit his lands if he could possibly prevent it.
But he maintained, besides, many adventurers from the mother sept,
who deserted a less warlike, though more wealthy chief to do homage
to Fergus Mac-Ivor. Other individuals, too, who had not even that
apology, were nevertheless received into his allegiance, which indeed
was refused to none who were, like Poins, proper men of their hands,
and were willing to assume the name of Mac-Ivor.
He was enabled to discipline these forces, from having obtained
command of one of the independent companies raised by government
to preserve the peace of the Highlands. While in this capacity he acted
with vigour and spirit, and preserved great order in the country under
his charge. He caused his vassals to enter by rotation into his company,
and serve for a certain space of time, which gave them all in turn a
general notion of military discipline. In his campaigns against the
banditti, it was observed that he assumed and exercised to the utmost
the discretionary power which, while the law had no free course in the
Highlands, was conceived to belong to the military parties who were
called in to support it. He acted, for example, with great and suspicious
lenity to those freebooters who made restitution on his summons and
offered personal submission to himself, while he rigorously pursued,
apprehended, and sacrificed to justice all such interlopers as dared to
despise his admonitions or commands. On the other hand, if any
officers of justice, military parties, or others, presumed to pursue
thieves or marauders through his territories, and without applying for
his consent and concurrence, nothing was more certain than that they
would meet with some notable foil or defeat; upon which occasions
Fergus Mac-Ivor was the first to condole with them, and after gently
blaming their rashness, never failed deeply to lament the lawless state
of the country. These lamentations did not exclude suspicion, and
matters were so represented to government that our Chieftain was
deprived of his military command. [Footnote: See Note 19.]
Whatever Fergus Mac-Ivor felt on this occasion, he had the art of
entirely suppressing every appearance of discontent; but in a short time
the neighbouring country began to feel bad effects from his disgrace.
Donald Bean Lean, and others of his class, whose depredations had
hitherto been confined to other districts, appeared from thenceforward
to have made a settlement on this devoted border; and their ravages
were carried on with little opposition, as the Lowland gentry were
chiefly Jacobites, and disarmed. This forced many of the inhabitants
into contracts of black-mail with Fergus Mac-Ivor, which not only
established him their protector, and gave him great weight in all their
consultations, but, moreover, supplied funds for the waste of his feudal
hospitality, which the discontinuance of his pay might have otherwise
essentially diminished.
In following this course of conduct, Fergus had a further object than
merely being the great man of his neighbourhood, and ruling
despotically over a small clan. From his infancy upward he had devoted
himself to the cause of the exiled family, and had persuaded himself,
not only that their restoration to the crown of Britain would be speedy,
but that those who assisted them would be raised to honour and rank. It
was with this view that he laboured to reconcile the Highlanders among
themselves, and augmented his own force to the utmost, to be prepared
for the first favourable opportunity of rising. With this purpose also he
conciliated the favour of such Lowland gentlemen in the vicinity as
were friends to the good cause; and for the same reason, having
incautiously quarrelled with Mr. Bradwardine, who, notwithstanding
his peculiarities, was much respected in the country, he took advantage
of the foray of Donald Bean Lean to solder up the dispute in the
manner we have mentioned. Some, indeed, surmised that he caused the
enterprise to be suggested to Donald, on purpose to pave the way to a
reconciliation, which, supposing that to be the case, cost the Laird of
Bradwardine two good milch cows. This zeal in their behalf the House
of Stuart repaid with a considerable share of their confidence, an
occasional supply of louis-d'or, abundance of fair words, and a
parchment, with a huge waxen seal appended, purporting to be an earl's
patent, granted by no less a person than James the Third King of
England, and Eighth King of Scotland, to his right feal, trusty, and
well-beloved Fergus Mac-Ivor of Glennaquoich, in the county of Perth,
and kingdom of Scotland.
With this future coronet glittering before his eyes, Fergus plunged
deeply into the correspondence and plots of that unhappy period; and,
like all such active agents, easily reconciled his conscience to going
certain lengths in the service of his party, from which honour and pride
would have deterred him had his sole object been the direct
advancement of his own personal interest. With this insight into a bold,
ambitious, and ardent, yet artful and politic character, we resume the
broken thread of our narrative.
The chief and his guest had by this time reached the house of
Glennaquoich, which consisted of Ian nan Chaistel's mansion, a high
rude-looking square tower, with the addition of a lofted house, that is, a
building of two stories, constructed by Fergus's grandfather when he
returned from that memorable expedition, well remembered by the
western shires under the name of the Highland Host. Upon occasion of
this crusade against the Ayrshire Whigs and Covenanters, the Vich Ian
Vohr of the time had probably been as successful as his predecessor
was in harrying Northumberland, and therefore left to his posterity a
rival edifice as a monument of his magnificence.
Around the house, which stood on an eminence in the midst of a
narrow Highland valley, there appeared none of that attention to
convenience, far less to ornament and decoration, which usually
surrounds a gentleman's habitation. An inclosure or two, divided by
dry-stone walls, were the only part of the domain that was fenced; as to
the rest, the narrow slips of level ground which lay by the side of the
brook exhibited a scanty crop of barley, liable to constant depredations
from the herds of wild ponies and black cattle that grazed upon the
adjacent hills. These ever and anon made an incursion upon the arable
ground, which was repelled by the loud, uncouth, and dissonant shouts
of half a dozen Highland swains, all running as if they had been mad,
and every one hallooing a half-starved dog to the rescue of the forage.
At a little distance up the glen was a small and stunted wood of birch;
the hills were high and heathy, but without any variety of surface; so
that the whole view was wild and desolate rather than grand and
solitary. Yet, such as it was, no genuine descendant of Ian nan Chaistel
would have changed the domain for Stow or Blenheim.
There was a sight, however, before the gate, which perhaps would have
afforded the first owner of Blenheim more pleasure than the finest view
in the domain assigned to him by the gratitude of his country. This
consisted of about a hundred Highlanders, in complete dress and arms;
at sight of whom the Chieftain apologised to Waverley in a sort of
negligent manner. 'He had forgot,' he said, 'that he had ordered a few of
his clan out, for the purpose of seeing that they were in a fit condition
to protect the country, and prevent such accidents as, he was sorry to
learn, had befallen the Baron of Bradwardine. Before they were
dismissed, perhaps Captain Waverley might choose to see them go
through a part of their exercise.'
Edward assented, and the men executed with agility and precision some
of the ordinary military movements. They then practised individually at
a mark, and showed extraordinary dexterity in the management of the
pistol and firelock. They took aim, standing, sitting, leaning, or lying
prostrate, as they were commanded, and always with effect upon the
target. Next, they paired off for the broadsword exercise; and, having
manifested their individual skill and dexterity, united in two bodies,
and exhibited a sort of mock encounter, in which the charge, the rally,
the flight, the pursuit, and all the current of a heady fight, were
exhibited to the sound of the great war bagpipe.
On a signal made by the Chief, the skirmish was ended. Matches were
then made for running, wrestling, leaping, pitching the bar, and other
sports, in which this feudal militia displayed incredible swiftness,
strength, and agility; and accomplished the purpose which their
Chieftain had at heart, by impressing on Waverley no light sense of
their merit as soldiers, and of the power of him who commanded them
by his nod. [Footnote: See Note 20.]
'And what number of such gallant fellows have the happiness to call
you leader?' asked Waverley.
'In a good cause, and under a chieftain whom they loved, the race of
Ivor have seldom taken the field under five hundred claymores. But
you are aware, Captain Waverley, that the disarming act, passed about
twenty years ago, prevents their being in the complete state of
preparation as in former times; and I keep no more of my clan under
arms than may defend my own or my friends' property, when the
country is troubled with such men as your last night's landlord; and
government, which has removed other means of defence, must connive
at our protecting ourselves.'
'But, with your force, you might soon destroy or put down such gangs
as that of Donald Bean Lean.'
'Yes, doubtless; and my reward would be a summons to deliver up to
General Blakeney, at Stirling, the few broadswords they have left us;
there were little policy in that, methinks. But come, captain, the sound
of the pipes informs me that dinner is prepared. Let me have the honour
to show you into my rude mansion.'
CHAPTER XX
A HIGHLAND FEAST
Ere Waverley entered the banqueting hall, he was offered the
patriarchal refreshment of a bath for the feet, which the sultry weather,
and the morasses he had traversed, rendered highly acceptable. He was
not, indeed, so luxuriously attended upon this occasion as the heroic
travellers in the Odyssey; the task of ablution and abstersion being
performed, not by a beautiful damsel, trained
To chafe the limb, and pour the fragrant oil,
but by a smoke-dried skinny old Highland woman, who did not seem to
think herself much honoured by the duty imposed upon her, but
muttered between her teeth, 'Our fathers' herds did not feed so near
together that I should do you this service.' A small donation, however,
amply reconciled this ancient handmaiden to the supposed degradation;
and, as Edward proceeded to the hall, she gave him her blessing in the
Gaelic proverb, 'May the open hand be filled the fullest.'
The hall, in which the feast was prepared, occupied all the first story of
lan nan Chaistel's original erection, and a huge oaken table extended
through its whole length. The apparatus for dinner was simple, even to
rudeness, and the company numerous, even to crowding. At the head of
the table was the Chief himself, with Edward, and two or three
Highland visitors of neighbouring clans; the elders of his own tribe,
wadsetters and tacksmen, as they were called, who occupied portions of
his estate as mortgagers or lessees, sat next in rank; beneath them, their
sons and nephews and foster-brethren; then the officers of the Chief's
household, according to their order; and lowest of all, the tenants who
actually cultivated the ground. Even beyond this long perspective,
Edward might see upon the green, to which a huge pair of folding doors
opened, a multitude of Highlanders of a yet inferior description, who,
nevertheless, were considered as guests, and had their share both of the
countenance of the entertainer and of the cheer of the day. In the
distance, and fluctuating round this extreme verge of the banquet, was a
changeful group of women, ragged boys and girls, beggars, young and
old, large greyhounds, and terriers, and pointers, and curs of low degree;
all of whom took some interest, more or less immediate, in the main
action of the piece.
This hospitality, apparently unbounded, had yet its line of economy.
Some pains had been bestowed in dressing the dishes of fish, game, etc.,
which were at the upper end of the table, and immediately under the
eye of the English stranger. Lower down stood immense clumsy joints
of mutton and beef, which, but for the absence of pork, [Footnote: See
Note 21.] abhorred in the Highlands, resembled the rude festivity of the
banquet of Penelope's suitors. But the central dish was a yearling lamb,
called 'a hog in har'st,' roasted whole. It was set upon its legs, with a
bunch of parsley in its mouth, and was probably exhibited in that form
to gratify the pride of the cook, who piqued himself more on the plenty
than the elegance of his master's table. The sides of this poor animal
were fiercely attacked by the clansmen, some with dirks, others with
the knives which were usually in the same sheath with the dagger, so
that it was soon rendered a mangled and rueful spectacle. Lower down
still, the victuals seemed of yet coarser quality, though sufficiently
abundant. Broth, onions, cheese, and the fragments of the feast regaled
the sons of Ivor who feasted in the open air.
The liquor was supplied in the same proportion, and under similar
regulations. Excellent claret and champagne were liberally distributed
among the Chief's immediate neighbours; whisky, plain or diluted, and
strong beer refreshed those who sat near the lower end. Nor did this
inequality of distribution appear to give the least offence. Every one
present understood that his taste was to be formed according to the rank
which he held at table; and, consequently, the tacksmen and their
dependants always professed the wine was too cold for their stomachs,
and called, apparently out of choice, for the liquor which was assigned
to them from economy. [Footnote: See Note 22.] The bag-pipers, three
in number, screamed, during the whole time of dinner, a tremendous
war-tune; and the echoing of the vaulted roof, and clang of the Celtic
tongue, produced such a Babel of noises that Waverley dreaded his ears
would never recover it. Mac-Ivor, indeed, apologised for the confusion
occasioned by so large a party, and pleaded the necessity of his
situation, on which unlimited hospitality was imposed as a paramount
duty. 'These stout idle kinsmen of mine,' he said, 'account my estate as
held in trust for their support; and I must find them beef and ale, while
the rogues will do nothing for themselves but practise the broadsword,
or wander about the hills, shooting, fishing, hunting, drinking, and
making love to the lasses of the strath. But what can I do, Captain
Waverley? everything will keep after its kind, whether it be a hawk or a
Highlander.' Edward made the expected answer, in a compliment upon
his possessing so many bold and attached followers.
'Why, yes,' replied the Chief, 'were I disposed, like my father, to put
myself in the way of getting one blow on the head, or two on the neck,
I believe the loons would stand by me. But who thinks of that in the
present day, when the maxim is, "Better an old woman with a purse in
her hand than three men with belted brands"?' Then, turning to the
company, he proposed the 'Health of Captain Waverley, a worthy
friend of his kind neighbour and ally, the Baron of Bradwardine.'
'He is welcome hither,' said one of the elders, 'if he come from Cosmo
Comyne Bradwardine.'
'I say nay to that,' said an old man, who apparently did not mean to
pledge the toast; 'I say nay to that. While there is a green leaf in the
forest, there will be fraud in a Comyne.
'There is nothing but honour in the Baron of Bradwardine,' answered
another ancient; 'and the guest that comes hither from him should be
welcome, though he came with blood on his hand, unless it were blood
of the race of Ivor.'
The old man whose cup remained full replied, 'There has been blood
enough of the race of Ivor on the hand of Bradwardine.'
'Ah! Ballenkeiroch,' replied the first, 'you think rather of the flash of the
carbine at the mains of Tully-Veolan than the glance of the sword that
fought for the cause at Preston.'
'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.
The Chieftain, who, during this scene had appeared rather to watch the
emotions which were excited than to partake their high tone of
enthusiasm, filled with claret a small silver cup which stood by him.
'Give this,' he said to an attendant, 'to Mac-Murrough nan Fonn (i.e. of
the songs), and when he has drank the juice, bid him keep, for the sake
of Vich Ian Vohr, the shell of the gourd which contained it.' The gift
was received by Mac-Murrough with profound gratitude; he drank the
wine, and, kissing the cup, shrouded it with reverence in the plaid
which was folded on his bosom. He then burst forth into what Edward
justly supposed to be an extemporaneous effusion of thanks and praises
of his Chief. It was received with applause, but did not produce the
effect of his first poem. It was obvious, however, that the clan regarded
the generosity of their Chieftain with high approbation. Many approved
Gaelic toasts were then proposed, of some of which the Chieftain gave
his guest the following versions:-'To him that will not turn his back on friend or foe.' 'To him that never
forsook a comrade.' 'To him that never bought or sold justice.'
'Hospitality to the exile, and broken bones to the tyrant.' 'The lads with
the kilts.' 'Highlanders, shoulder to shoulder,'--with many other pithy
sentiments of the like nature.
Edward was particularly solicitous to know the meaning of that song
which appeared to produce such effect upon the passions of the
company, and hinted his curiosity to his host. 'As I observe,' said the
Chieftain, 'that you have passed the bottle during the last three rounds, I
was about to propose to you to retire to my sister's tea-table, who can
explain these things to you better than I can. Although I cannot stint my
clan in the usual current of their festivity, yet I neither am addicted
myself to exceed in its amount, nor do I,' added he, smiling, 'keep a
Bear to devour the intellects of such as can make good use of them.'
Edward readily assented to this proposal, and the Chieftain, saying a
few words to those around him, left the table, followed by Waverley.
As the door closed behind them, Edward heard Vich Ian Vohr's health
invoked with a wild and animated cheer, that expressed the satisfaction
of the guests and the depth of their devotion to his service.
CHAPTER XXI
THE CHIEFTAIN'S SISTER
The drawing-room of Flora Mac-Ivor was furnished in the plainest and
most simple manner; for at Glennaquoich every other sort of
expenditure was retrenched as much as possible, for the purpose of
maintaining, in its full dignity, the hospitality of the Chieftain, and
retaining and multiplying the number of his dependants and adherents.
But there was no appearance of this parsimony in the dress of the lady
herself, which was in texture elegant, and even rich, and arranged in a
manner which partook partly of the Parisian fashion and partly of the
more simple dress of the Highlands, blended together with great taste.
Her hair was not disfigured by the art of the friseur, but fell in jetty
ringlets on her neck, confined only by a circlet, richly set with
diamonds. This peculiarity she adopted in compliance with the
Highland prejudices, which could not endure that a woman's head
should be covered before wedlock.
Flora Mac-Ivor bore a most striking resemblance to her brother Fergus;
so much so that they might have played Viola and Sebastian with the
same exquisite effect produced by the appearance of Mrs. Henry
Siddons and her brother, Mr. William Murray, in these characters. They
had the same antique and regular correctness of profile; the same dark
eyes, eye-lashes, and eye-brows; the same clearness of complexion,
excepting that Fergus's was embrowned by exercise and Flora's
possessed the utmost feminine delicacy. But the haughty and somewhat
stern regularity of Fergus's features was beautifully softened in those of
Flora. Their voices were also similar in tone, though differing in the
key. That of Fergus, especially while issuing orders to his followers
during their military exercise, reminded Edward of a favourite passage
in the description of Emetrius: --whose voice was heard around, Loud
as a trumpet with a silver sound. That of Flora, on the contrary, was
soft and sweet--'an excellent thing in woman'; yet, in urging any
favourite topic, which she often pursued with natural eloquence, it
possessed as well the tones which impress awe and conviction as those
of persuasive insinuation. The eager glance of the keen black eye,
which, in the Chieftain, seemed impatient even of the material
obstacles it encountered, had in his sister acquired a gentle pensiveness.
His looks seemed to seek glory, power, all that could exalt him above
others in the race of humanity; while those of his sister, as if she were
already conscious of mental superiority, seemed to pity, rather than
envy, those who were struggling for any farther distinction. Her
sentiments corresponded with the expression of her countenance. Early
education had impressed upon her mind, as well as on that of the
Chieftain, the most devoted attachment to the exiled family of Stuart.
She believed it the duty of her brother, of his clan, of every man in
Britain, at whatever personal hazard, to contribute to that restoration
which the partisans of the Chevalier St. George had not ceased to hope
for. For this she was prepared to do all, to suffer all, to sacrifice all. But
her loyalty, as it exceeded her brother's in fanaticism, excelled it also in
purity. Accustomed to petty intrigue, and necessarily involved in a
thousand paltry and selfish discussions, ambitious also by nature, his
political faith was tinctured, at least, if not tainted, by the views of
interest and advancement so easily combined with it; and at the
moment he should unsheathe his claymore, it might be difficult to say
whether it would be most with the view of making James Stuart a king
or Fergus Mac-Ivor an earl. This, indeed, was a mixture of feeling
which he did not avow even to himself, but it existed, nevertheless, in a
powerful degree.
In Flora's bosom, on the contrary, the zeal of loyalty burnt pure and
unmixed with any selfish feeling; she would have as soon made
religion the mask of ambitious and interested views as have shrouded
them under the opinions which she had been taught to think patriotism.
Such instances of devotion were not uncommon among the followers of
the unhappy race of Stuart, of which many memorable proofs will recur
to the minds of most of my readers. But peculiar attention on the part of
the Chevalier de St. George and his princess to the parents of Fergus
and his sister, and to themselves when orphans, had riveted their faith.
Fergus, upon the death of his parents, had been for some time a page of
honour in the train of the Chevalier's lady, and, from his beauty and
sprightly temper, was uniformly treated by her with the utmost
distinction. This was also extended to Flora, who was maintained for
some time at a convent of the first order at the princess's expense, and
removed from thence into her own family, where she spent nearly two
years. Both brother and sister retained the deepest and most grateful
sense of her kindness.
Having thus touched upon the leading principle of Flora's character, I
may dismiss the rest more slightly. She was highly accomplished, and
had acquired those elegant manners to be expected from one who, in
early youth, had been the companion of a princess; yet she had not
learned to substitute the gloss of politeness for the reality of feeling.
When settled in the lonely regions of Glennaquoich, she found that her
resources in French, English, and Italian literature were likely to be few
and interrupted; and, in order to fill up the vacant time, she bestowed a
part of it upon the music and poetical traditions of the Highlanders, and
began really to feel the pleasure in the pursuit which her brother, whose
perceptions of literary merit were more blunt, rather affected for the
sake of popularity than actually experienced. Her resolution was
strengthened in these researches by the extreme delight which her
inquiries seemed to afford those to whom she resorted for information.
Her love of her clan, an attachment which was almost hereditary in her
bosom, was, like her loyalty, a more pure passion than that of her
brother. He was too thorough a politician, regarded his patriarchal
influence too much as the means of accomplishing his own
aggrandisement, that we should term him the model of a Highland
Chieftain. Flora felt the same anxiety for cherishing and extending their
patriarchal sway, but it was with the generous desire of vindicating
from poverty, or at least from want and foreign oppression, those
whom her brother was by birth, according to the notions of the time and
country, entitled to govern. The savings of her income, for she had a
small pension from the Princess Sobieski, were dedicated, not to add to
the comforts of the peasantry, for that was a word which they neither
knew nor apparently wished to know, but to relieve their absolute
necessities when in sickness or extreme old age. At every other period
they rather toiled to procure something which they might share with the
Chief, as a proof of their attachment, than expected other assistance
from him save what was afforded by the rude hospitality of his castle,
and the general division and subdivision of his estate among them.
Flora was so much beloved by them that, when Mac-Murrough
composed a song in which he enumerated all the principal beauties of
the district, and intimated her superiority by concluding, that 'the fairest
apple hung on the highest bough,' he received, in donatives from the
individuals of the clan, more seed-barley than would have sowed his
Highland Parnassus, the bard's croft, as it was called, ten times over.
From situation as well as choice, Miss Mac-Ivor's society was
extremely limited. Her most intimate friend had been Rose
Bradwardine, to whom she was much attached; and when seen together,
they would have afforded an artist two admirable subjects for the gay
and the melancholy muse. Indeed Rose was so tenderly watched by her
father, and her circle of wishes was so limited, that none arose but what
he was willing to gratify, and scarce any which did not come within the
compass of his power. With Flora it was otherwise. While almost a girl
she had undergone the most complete change of scene, from gaiety and
splendour to absolute solitude and comparative poverty; and the ideas
and wishes which she chiefly fostered respected great national events,
and changes not to be brought round without both hazard and
bloodshed, and therefore not to be thought of with levity. Her manner,
consequently, was grave, though she readily contributed her talents to
the amusement of society, and stood very high in the opinion of the old
Baron, who used to sing along with her such French duets of Lindor
and Cloris, etc., as were in fashion about the end of the reign of old
Louis le Grand.
It was generally believed, though no one durst have hinted it to the
Baron of Bradwardine, that Flora's entreaties had no small share in
allaying the wrath of Fergus upon occasion of their quarrel. She took
her brother on the assailable side, by dwelling first upon the Baron's
age, and then representing the injury which the cause might sustain,
and the damage which must arise to his own character in point of
prudence--so necessary to a political agent, if he persisted in carrying it
to extremity. Otherwise it is probable it would have terminated in a
duel, both because the Baron had, on a former occasion, shed blood of
the clan, though the matter had been timely accommodated, and on
account of his high reputation for address at his weapon, which Fergus
almost condescended to envy. For the same reason she had urged their
reconciliation, which the Chieftain the more readily agreed to as it
favoured some ulterior projects of his own.
To this young lady, now presiding at the female empire of the tea-table,
Fergus introduced Captain Waverley, whom she received with the
usual forms of politeness.
CHAPTER XXII
HIGHLAND MINSTRELSY
When the first salutations had passed, Fergus said to his sister, 'My dear
Flora, before I return to the barbarous ritual of our forefathers, I must
tell you that Captain Waverley is a worshipper of the Celtic muse, not
the less so perhaps that he does not understand a word of her language.
I have told him you are eminent as a translator of Highland poetry, and
that Mac-Murrough admires your version of his songs upon the same
principle that Captain Waverley admires the original,--because he does
not comprehend them. Will you have the goodness to read or recite to
our guest in English the extraordinary string of names which
Mac-Murrough has tacked together in Gaelic? My life to a moor-fowl's
feather, you are provided with a version; for I know you are in all the
bard's councils, and acquainted with his songs long before he rehearses
them in the hall.'
'How can you say so, Fergus? You know how little these verses can
possibly interest an English stranger, even if I could translate them as
you pretend.'
'Not less than they interest me, lady fair. To-day your joint composition,
for I insist you had a share in it, has cost me the last silver cup in the
castle, and I suppose will cost me something else next time I hold cour
pleniere, if the muse descends on Mac-Murrough; for you know our
proverb,--"When the hand of the chief ceases to bestow, the breath of
the bard is frozen in the utterance."--Well, I would it were even so:
there are three things that are useless to a modern Highlander,--a sword
which he must not draw, a bard to sing of deeds which he dare not
imitate, and a large goat-skin purse without a louis-d'or to put into it.'
'Well, brother, since you betray my secrets, you cannot expect me to
keep yours. I assure you, Captain Waverley, that Fergus is too proud to
exchange his broardsword for a marechal's baton, that he esteems
Mac-Murrough a far greater poet than Homer, and would not give up
his goat-skin purse for all the louis-d'or which it could contain.'
'Well pronounced, Flora; blow for blow, as Conan [Footnote: See Note
23.] said to the devil. Now do you two talk of bards and poetry, if not
of purses and claymores, while I return to do the final honours to the
senators of the tribe of Ivor.' So saying, he left the room.
The conversation continued between Flora and Waverley; for two
well-dressed young women, whose character seemed to hover between
that of companions and dependants, took no share in it. They were both
pretty girls, but served only as foils to the grace and beauty of their
patroness. The discourse followed the turn which the Chieftain had
given it, and Waverley was equally amused and surprised with the
account which the lady gave him of Celtic poetry.
'The recitation,' she said, 'of poems recording the feats of heroes, the
complaints of lovers, and the wars of contending tribes, forms the chief
amusement of a winter fire-side in the Highlands. Some of these are
said to be very ancient, and if they are ever translated into any of the
languages of civilised Europe, cannot fail to produce a deep and
general sensation. Others are more modern, the composition of those
family bards whom the chieftains of more distinguished name and
power retain as the poets and historians of their tribes. These, of course,
possess various degrees of merit; but much of it must evaporate in
translation, or be lost on those who do not sympathise with the feelings
of the poet.'
'And your bard, whose effusions seemed to produce such effect upon
the company to-day, is he reckoned among the favourite poets of the
mountains?'
'That is a trying question. His reputation is high among his countrymen,
and you must not expect me to depreciate it. [Footnote: The Highland
poet almost always was an improvisatore. Captain Burt met one of
them at Lovat's table.]
'But the song, Miss Mac-Ivor, seemed to awaken all those warriors,
both young and old.'
'The song is little more than a catalogue of names of the Highland clans
under their distinctive peculiarities, and an exhortation to them to
remember and to emulate the actions of their forefathers.'
'And am I wrong in conjecturing, however extraordinary the guess
appears, that there was some allusion to me in the verses which he
recited?'
'You have a quick observation, Captain Waverley, which in this
instance has not deceived you. The Gaelic language, being
uncommonly vocalic, is well adapted for sudden and extemporaneous
poetry; and a bard seldom fails to augment the effects of a premeditated
song by throwing in any stanzas which may be suggested by the
circumstances attending the recitation.'
'I would give my best horse to know what the Highland bard could find
to say of such an unworthy Southron as myself.'
'It shall not even cost you a lock of his mane. Una, mavourneen! (She
spoke a few words to one of the young girls in attendance, who
instantly curtsied and tripped out of the room.) I have sent Una to learn
from the bard the expressions he used, and you shall command my skill
as dragoman.'
Una returned in a few minutes, and repeated to her mistress a few lines
in Gaelic. Flora seemed to think for a moment, and then, slightly
colouring, she turned to Waverley--'It is impossible to gratify your
curiosity, Captain Waverley, without exposing my own presumption. If
you will give me a few moments for consideration, I will endeavour to
engraft the meaning of these lines upon a rude English translation
which I have attempted of a part of the original. The duties of the
tea-table seem to be concluded, and, as the evening is delightful, Una
will show you the way to one of my favourite haunts, and Cathleen and
I will join you there.'
Una, having received instructions in her native language, conducted
Waverley out by a passage different from that through which he had
entered the apartment. At a distance he heard the hall of the Chief still
resounding with the clang of bagpipes and the high applause of his
guests. Having gained the open air by a postern door, they walked a
little way up the wild, bleak, and narrow valley in which the house was
situated, following the course of the stream that winded through it. In a
spot, about a quarter of a mile from the castle, two brooks, which
formed the little river, had their junction. The larger of the two came
down the long bare valley, which extended, apparently without any
change or elevation of character, as far as the hills which formed its
boundary permitted the eye to reach. But the other stream, which had
its source among the mountains on the left hand of the strath, seemed to
issue from a very narrow and dark opening betwixt two large rocks.
These streams were different also in character. The larger was placid,
and even sullen in its course, wheeling in deep eddies, or sleeping in
dark blue pools; but the motions of the lesser brook were rapid and
furious, issuing from between precipices, like a maniac from his
confinement, all foam and uproar.
It was up the course of this last stream that Waverley, like a knight of
romance, was conducted by the fair Highland damsel, his silent guide.
A small path, which had been rendered easy in many places for Flora's
accommodation, led him through scenery of a very different description
from that which he had just quitted. Around the castle all was cold,
bare, and desolate, yet tame even in desolation; but this narrow glen, at
so short a distance, seemed to open into the land of romance. The rocks
assumed a thousand peculiar and varied forms. In one place a crag of
huge size presented its gigantic bulk, as if to forbid the passenger's
farther progress; and it was not until he approached its very base that
Waverley discerned the sudden and acute turn by which the pathway
wheeled its course around this formidable obstacle. In another spot the
projecting rocks from the opposite sides of the chasm had approached
so near to each other that two pine-trees laid across, and covered with
turf, formed a rustic bridge at the height of at least one hundred and
fifty feet. It had no ledges, and was barely three feet in breadth.
While gazing at this pass of peril, which crossed, like a single black
line, the small portion of blue sky not intercepted by the projecting
rocks on either side, it was with a sensation of horror that Waverley
beheld Flora and her attendant appear, like inhabitants of another
region, propped, as it were, in mid air, upon this trembling structure.
She stopped upon observing him below, and, with an air of graceful
ease which made him shudder, waved her handkerchief to him by way
of signal. He was unable, from the sense of dizziness which her
situation conveyed, to return the salute; and was never more relieved
than when the fair apparition passed on from the precarious eminence
which she seemed to occupy with so much indifference, and
disappeared on the other side.
Advancing a few yards, and passing under the bridge which he had
viewed with so much terror, the path ascended rapidly from the edge of
the brook, and the glen widened into a sylvan amphitheatre, waving
with birch, young oaks, and hazels, with here and there a scattered
yew-tree. The rocks now receded, but still showed their grey and
shaggy crests rising among the copse-wood. Still higher rose eminences
and peaks, some bare, some clothed with wood, some round and purple
with heath, and others splintered into rocks and crags. At a short
turning the path, which had for some furlongs lost sight of the brook,
suddenly placed Waverley in front of a romantic waterfall. It was not so
remarkable either for great height or quantity of water as for the
beautiful accompaniments which made the spot interesting. After a
broken cataract of about twenty feet, the stream was received in a large
natural basin filled to the brim with water, which, where the bubbles of
the fall subsided, was so exquisitely clear that, although it was of great
depth, the eye could discern each pebble at the bottom. Eddying round
this reservoir, the brook found its way as if over a broken part of the
ledge, and formed a second fall, which seemed to seek the very abyss;
then, wheeling out beneath from among the smooth dark rocks which it
had polished for ages, it wandered murmuring down the glen, forming
the stream up which Waverley had just ascended. [Footnote: See Note
24.] The borders of this romantic reservoir corresponded in beauty; but
it was beauty of a stern and commanding cast, as if in the act of
expanding into grandeur. Mossy banks of turf were broken and
interrupted by huge fragments of rock, and decorated with trees and
shrubs, some of which had been planted under the direction of Flora,
but so cautiously that they added to the grace without diminishing the
romantic wildness of the scene.
Here, like one of those lovely forms which decorate the landscapes of
Poussin, Waverley found Flora gazing on the waterfall. Two paces
further back stood Cathleen, holding a small Scottish harp, the use of
which had been taught to Flora by Rory Dall, one of the last harpers of
the Western Highlands. The sun, now stooping in the west, gave a rich
and varied tinge to all the objects which surrounded Waverley, and
seemed to add more than human brilliancy to the full expressive
darkness of Flora's eye, exalted the richness and purity of her
complexion, and enhanced the dignity and grace of her beautiful form.
Edward thought he had never, even in his wildest dreams, imagined a
figure of such exquisite and interesting loveliness. The wild beauty of
the retreat, bursting upon him as if by magic, augmented the mingled
feeling of delight and awe with which he approached her, like a fair
enchantress of Boiardo or Ariosto, by whose nod the scenery around
seemed to have been created an Eden in the wilderness.
Flora, like every beautiful woman, was conscious of her own power,
and pleased with its effects, which she could easily discern from the
respectful yet confused address of the young soldier. But, as she
possessed excellent sense, she gave the romance of the scene and other
accidental circumstances full weight in appreciating the feelings with
which Waverley seemed obviously to be impressed; and, unacquainted
with the fanciful and susceptible peculiarities of his character,
considered his homage as the passing tribute which a woman of even
inferior charms might have expected in such a situation. She therefore
quietly led the way to a spot at such a distance from the cascade that its
sound should rather accompany than interrupt that of her voice and
instrument, and, sitting down upon a mossy fragment of rock, she took
the harp from Cathleen.
'I have given you the trouble of walking to this spot, Captain Waverley,
both because I thought the scenery would interest you, and because a
Highland song would suffer still more from my imperfect translation
were I to introduce it without its own wild and appropriate
accompaniments. To speak in the poetical language of my country, the
seat of the Celtic Muse is in the mist of the secret and solitary hill, and
her voice in the murmur of the mountain stream. He who woos her
must love the barren rock more than the fertile valley, and the solitude
of the desert better than the festivity of the hall.'
Few could have heard this lovely woman make this declaration, with a
voice where harmony was exalted by pathos, without exclaiming that
the muse whom she invoked could never find a more appropriate
representative. But Waverley, though the thought rushed on his mind,
found no courage to utter it. Indeed, the wild feeling of romantic
delight with which he heard the few first notes she drew from her
instrument amounted almost to a sense of pain. He would not for
worlds have quitted his place by her side; yet he almost longed for
solitude, that he might decipher and examine at leisure the
complication of emotions which now agitated his bosom.
Flora had exchanged the measured and monotonous recitative of the
bard for a lofty and uncommon Highland air, which had been a
battle-song in former ages. A few irregular strains introduced a prelude
of a wild and peculiar tone, which harmonised well with the distant
waterfall, and the soft sigh of the evening breeze in the rustling leaves
of an aspen, which overhung the seat of the fair harpress. The following
verses convey but little idea of the feelings with which, so sung and
accompanied, they were heard by Waverley:-There is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale, But more dark is
the sleep of the sons of the Gael. A stranger commanded--it sunk on the
land, It has frozen each heart, and benumb'd every hand!
The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust, The bloodless claymore is
but redden'd with rust; On the hill or the glen if a gun should appear, It
is only to war with the heath-cock or deer.
The deeds of our sires if our bards should rehearse, Let a blush or a
blow be the meed of their verse! Be mute every string, and be hush'd
every tone, That shall bid us remember the fame that is flown.
But the dark hours of night and of slumber are past, The morn on our
mountains is dawning at last; Glenaladale's peaks are illumined with
the rays, And the streams of Glenfinnan leap bright in the blaze.
[Footnote: The young and daring adventurer, Charles Edward, landedat
Glenaladale, in Moidart, and displayed his standard in the valley of
Glenfinnan, mustering around it the Mac-Donalds, the Camerons, and
other less numerous clans, whom he had prevailed on to join him.
There is a monument erected on the spot, with a Latin inscription by
the late Doctor Gregory.]
O high-minded Moray! the exiled! the dear! In the blush of the
dawning the STANDARD uprear! Wide, wide on the winds of the
north let it fly, Like the sun's latest flash when the tempest is nigh!
[Footnote: The Marquis of Tullibardine's elder brother, who, long
exiled, returned to Scotland with Charles Edward in 1745.]
Ye sons of the strong, when that dawning shall break, Need the harp of
the aged remind you to wake? That dawn never beam'd on your
forefathers' eye, But it roused each high chieftain to vanquish or die.
O, sprung from the Kings who in Islay kept state, Proud chiefs of Clan
Ranald, Glengarry, and Sleat! Combine like three streams from one
mountain of snow, And resistless in union rush down on the foe!
True son of Sir Evan, undaunted Lochiel, Place thy targe on thy
shoulder and burnish thy steel! Rough Keppoch, give breath to thy
bugle's bold swell, Till far Coryarrick resound to the knell!
Stern son of Lord Kenneth, high chief of Kintail, Let the stag in thy
standard bound wild in the gale! May the race of Clan Gillean, the
fearless and free, Remember Glenlivat, Harlaw, and Dundee!
Let the clan of grey Fingon, whose offspring has given Such heroes to
earth and such martyrs to heaven, Unite with the race of renown'd Rorri
More, To launch the long galley and stretch to the oar.
How Mac-Shimei will joy when their chief shall display The
yew-crested bonnet o'er tresses of grey! How the race of wrong'd
Alpine and murder'd Glencoe Shall shout for revenge when they pour
on the foe!
Ye sons of brown Dermid, who slew the wild boar, Resume the pure
faith of the great Callum-More! Mac-Neil of the islands, and Moy of
the Lake, For honour, for freedom, for vengeance awake!
Here a large greyhound, bounding up the glen, jumped upon Flora and
interrupted her music by his importunate caresses. At a distant whistle
he turned and shot down the path again with the rapidity of an arrow.
'That is Fergus's faithful attendant, Captain Waverley, and that was his
signal. He likes no poetry but what is humorous, and comes in good
time to interrupt my long catalogue of the tribes, whom one of your
saucy English poets calls
Our bootless host of high-born beggars, Mac-Leans, Mac-Kenzies, and
Mac-Gregors.'
Waverley expressed his regret at the interruption.
'O you cannot guess how much you have lost! The bard, as in duty
bound, has addressed three long stanzas to Vich Ian Vohr of the
Banners, enumerating all his great properties, and not forgetting his
being a cheerer of the harper and bard--"a giver of bounteous gifts."
Besides, you should have heard a practical admonition to the fair-haired
son of the stranger, who lives in the land where the grass is always
green--the rider on the shining pampered steed, whose hue is like the
raven, and whose neigh is like the scream of the eagle for battle. This
valiant horseman is affectionately conjured to remember that his
ancestors were distinguished by their loyalty as well as by their courage.
All this you have lost; but, since your curiosity is not satisfied, I judge,
from the distant sound of my brother's whistle, I may have time to sing
the concluding stanzas before he comes to laugh at my translation.'
Awake on your hills, on your islands awake, Brave sons of the
mountain, the frith, and the lake! 'T is the bugle--but not for the chase is
the call; 'T is the pibroch's shrill summons--but not to the hall.
'T is the summons of heroes for conquest or death, When the banners
are blazing on mountain and heath: They call to the dirk, the claymore,
and the targe, To the march and the muster, the line and the charge.
Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin's in his ire! May the blood
through his veins flow like currents of fire! Burst the base foreign yoke
as your sires did of yore, Or die like your sires, and endure it no more!
CHAPTER XXIII
WAVERLEY CONTINUES AT GLENNAQUOICH
As Flora concluded her song, Fergus stood before them. 'I knew I
should find you here, even without the assistance of my friend Bran. A
simple and unsublimed taste now, like my own, would prefer a jet d'eau
at Versailles to this cascade, with all its accompaniments of rock and
roar; but this is Flora's Parnassus, Captain Waverley, and that fountain
her Helicon. It would be greatly for the benefit of my cellar if she could
teach her coadjutor, Mac-Murrough, the value of its influence: he has
just drunk a pint of usquebaugh to correct, he said, the coldness of the
claret. Let me try its virtues.' He sipped a little water in the hollow of
his hand, and immediately commenced, with a theatrical air,-'O Lady of the desert, hail! That lovest the harping of the Gael,
Through fair and fertile regions borne, Where never yet grew grass or
corn.
But English poetry will never succeed under the influence of a
Highland Helicon. Allons, courage!
O vous, qui buvez, a tasse pleine, A cette heureuse f ontaine, Ou on ne
voit, sur le rivage, Que quelques vilains troupeaux, Suivis de nymphes
de village, Qui les escortent sans sabots--'
'A truce, dear Fergus! spare us those most tedious and insipid persons
of all Arcadia. Do not, for Heaven's sake, bring down Coridon and
Lindor upon us.'
'Nay, if you cannot relish la houlette et le chalumeau, have with you in
heroic strains.'
'Dear Fergus, you have certainly partaken of the inspiration of
Mac-Murrough's cup rather than of mine.'
'I disclaim it, ma belle demoiselle, although I protest it would be the
more congenial of the two. Which of your crack-brained Italian
romancers is it that says, Io d'Elicona niente Mi curo, in fe de Dio; che'l
bere d'acque (Bea chi ber ne vuol) sempre mi spiacque! [Footnote:
Good sooth, I reck nought of your Helicon; Drink water whoso will, in
faith I will drink none.] But if you prefer the Gaelic, Captain Waverley,
here is little Cathleen shall sing you Drimmindhu. Come, Cathleen,
astore (i.e. my dear), begin; no apologies to the cean-kinne.'
Cathleen sung with much liveliness a little Gaelic song, the burlesque
elegy of a countryman on the loss of his cow, the comic tones of which,
though he did not understand the language, made Waverley laugh more
than once. [Footnote: This ancient Gaelic ditty is still well known, both
in the Highlands and in Ireland It was translated into English, and
published, if I mistake not, under the auspices of the facetious Tom
D'Urfey, by the title of 'Colley, my Cow.']
'Admirable, Cathleen!' cried the Chieftain; 'I must find you a handsome
husband among the clansmen one of these days.'
Cathleen laughed, blushed, and sheltered herself behind her companion.
In the progress of their return to the castle, the Chieftain warmly
pressed Waverley to remain for a week or two, in order to see a grand
hunting party, in which he and some other Highland gentlemen
proposed to join. The charms of melody and beauty were too strongly
impressed in Edward's breast to permit his declining an invitation so
pleasing. It was agreed, therefore, that he should write a note to the
Baron of Bradwardine, expressing his intention to stay a fortnight at
Glennaquoich, and requesting him to forward by the bearer (a gilly of
the Chieftain's) any letters which might have arrived for him.
This turned the discourse upon the Baron, whom Fergus highly extolled
as a gentleman and soldier. His character was touched with yet more
discrimination by Flora, who observed he was the very model of the
old Scottish cavalier, with all his excellencies and peculiarities. 'It is a
character, Captain Waverley, which is fast disappearing; for its best
point was a self-respect which was never lost sight of till now. But in
the present time the gentlemen whose principles do not permit them to
pay court to the existing government are neglected and degraded, and
many conduct themselves accordingly; and, like some of the persons
you have seen at Tully-Veolan, adopt habits and companions
inconsistent with their birth and breeding. The ruthless proscription of
party seems to degrade the victims whom it brands, however unjustly.
But let us hope a brighter day is approaching, when a Scottish country
gentleman may be a scholar without the pedantry of our friend the
Baron, a sportsman without the low habits of Mr. Falconer, and a
judicious improver of his property without becoming a boorish
two-legged steer like Killancureit.'
Thus did Flora prophesy a revolution, which time indeed has produced,
but in a manner very different from what she had in her mind.
The amiable Rose was next mentioned, with the warmest encomium on
her person, manners, and mind. 'That man,' said Flora, 'will find an
inestimable treasure in the affections of Rose Bradwardine who shall be
so fortunate as to become their object. Her very soul is in home, and in
the discharge of all those quiet virtues of which home is the centre. Her
husband will be to her what her father now is, the object of all her care,
solicitude, and affection. She will see nothing, and connect herself with
nothing, but by him and through him. If he is a man of sense and virtue,
she will sympathise in his sorrows, divert his fatigue, and share his
pleasures. If she becomes the property of a churlish or negligent
husband, she will suit his taste also, for she will not long survive his
unkindness. And, alas! how great is the chance that some such
unworthy lot may be that of my poor friend! O that I were a queen this
moment, and could command the most amiable and worthy youth of
my kingdom to accept happiness with the hand of Rose Bradwardine!'
'I wish you would command her to accept mine en attendant,' said
Fergus, laughing.
I don't know by what caprice it was that this wish, however jocularly
expressed, rather jarred on Edward's feelings, notwithstanding his
growing inclination to Flora and his indifference to Miss Bradwardine.
This is one of the inexplicabilities of human nature, which we leave
without comment.
'Yours, brother?' answered Flora, regarding him steadily. 'No; you have
another bride--Honour; and the dangers you must run in pursuit of her
rival would break poor Rose's heart.'
With this discourse they reached the castle, and Waverley soon
prepared his despatches for Tully-Veolan. As he knew the Baron was
punctilious in such matters, he was about to impress his billet with a
seal on which his armorial bearings were engraved, but he did not find
it at his watch, and thought he must have left it at Tully-Veolan. He
mentioned his loss, borrowing at the same time the family seal of the
Chieftain.
'Surely,' said Miss Mac-Ivor, 'Donald Bean Lean would not--'
'My life for him in such circumstances,' answered her brother; 'besides,
he would never have left the watch behind.'
'After all, Fergus,' said Flora, 'and with every allowance, I am surprised
you can countenance that man.'
'I countenance him? This kind sister of mine would persuade you,
Captain Waverley, that I take what the people of old used to call "a
steakraid," that is, a "collop of the foray," or, in plainer words, a portion
of the robber's booty, paid by him to the Laird, or Chief, through whose
grounds he drove his prey. O, it is certain that, unless I can find some
way to charm Flora's tongue, General Blakeney will send a sergeant's
party from Stirling (this he said with haughty and emphatic irony) to
seize Vich lan Vohr, as they nickname me, in his own castle.'
'Now, Fergus, must not our guest be sensible that all this is folly and
affectation? You have men enough to serve you without enlisting
banditti, and your own honour is above taint. Why don't you send this
Donald Bean Lean, whom I hate for his smoothness and duplicity even
more than for his rapine, out of your country at once? No cause should
induce me to tolerate such a character.'
'No cause, Flora?' said the Chieftain significantly.
'No cause, Fergus! not even that which is nearest to my heart. Spare it
the omen of such evil supporters!'
'O but, sister,' rejoined the Chief gaily, 'you don't consider my respect
for la belle passion. Evan Dhu Maccombich is in love with Donald's
daughter, Alice, and you cannot expect me to disturb him in his amours.
Why, the whole clan would cry shame on me. You know it is one of
their wise sayings, that a kinsman is part of a man's body, but a
foster-brother is a piece of his heart.'
'Well, Fergus, there is no disputing with you; but I would all this may
end well.'
'Devoutly prayed, my dear and prophetic sister, and the best way in the
world to close a dubious argument. But hear ye not the pipes, Captain
Waverley? Perhaps you will like better to dance to them in the hall than
to be deafened with their harmony without taking part in the exercise
they invite us to.'
Waverley took Flora's hand. The dance, song, and merry-making
proceeded, and closed the day's entertainment at the castle of Vich Ian
Vohr. Edward at length retired, his mind agitated by a variety of new
and conflicting feelings, which detained him from rest for some time,
in that not unpleasing state of mind in which fancy takes the helm, and
the soul rather drifts passively along with the rapid and confused tide of
reflections than exerts itself to encounter, systematise, or examine them.
At a late hour he fell asleep, and dreamed of Flora Mac-Ivor.
CHAPTER XXIV
A STAG-HUNT AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
Shall this be a long or a short chapter? This is a question in which you,
gentle reader, have no vote, however much you may be interested in the
consequences; just as you may (like myself) probably have nothing to
do with the imposing a new tax, excepting the trifling circumstance of
being obliged to pay it. More happy surely in the present case, since,
though it lies within my arbitrary power to extend my materials as I
think proper, I cannot call you into Exchequer if you do not think
proper to read my narrative. Let me therefore consider. It is true that the
annals and documents in my hands say but little of this Highland chase;
but then I can find copious materials for description elsewhere. There is
old Lindsay of Pitscottie ready at my elbow, with his Athole hunting,
and his 'lofted and joisted palace of green timber; with all kind of drink
to be had in burgh and land, as ale, beer, wine, muscadel, malvaise,
hippocras, and aquavitae; with wheat-bread, main-bread, ginge-bread,
beef, mutton, lamb, veal, venison, goose, grice, capon, coney, crane,
swan, partridge, plover, duck, drake, brisselcock, pawnies, black-cock,
muir-fowl, and capercailzies'; not forgetting the 'costly bedding,
vaiselle, and napry,' and least of all the 'excelling stewards, cunning
baxters, excellent cooks, and pottingars, with confections and drugs for
the desserts.' Besides the particulars which may be thence gleaned for
this Highland feast (the splendour of which induced the Pope's legate to
dissent from an opinion which he had hitherto held, that Scotland,
namely, was the--the--the latter end of the world)--besides these, might
I not illuminate my pages with Taylor the Water Poet's hunting in the
Braes of Mar, where,-Through heather, mosse,'mong frogs, and bogs, and fogs, 'Mongst
craggy cliffs and thunder-batter'd hills, Hares, hinds, bucks, roes, are
chased by men and dogs, Where two hours' hunting fourscore fat deer
kills. Lowland, your sports are low as is your seat; The Highland games
and minds are high and great?
But without further tyranny over my readers, or display of the extent of
my own reading, I shall content myself with borrowing a single
incident from the memorable hunting at Lude, commemorated in the
ingenious Mr. Gunn's essay on the Caledonian Harp, and so proceed in
my story with all the brevity that my natural style of composition,
partaking of what scholars call the periphrastic and ambagitory, and the
vulgar the circumbendibus, will permit me.
The solemn hunting was delayed, from various causes, for about three
weeks. The interval was spent by Waverley with great satisfaction at
Glennaquoich; for the impression which Flora had made on his mind at
their first meeting grew daily stronger. She was precisely the character
to fascinate a youth of romantic imagination. Her manners, her
language, her talents for poetry and music, gave additional and varied
influence to her eminent personal charms. Even in her hours of gaiety
she was in his fancy exalted above the ordinary daughters of Eve, and
seemed only to stoop for an instant to those topics of amusement and
gallantry which others appear to live for. In the neighbourhood of this
enchantress, while sport consumed the morning and music and the
dance led on the hours of evening, Waverley became daily more
delighted with his hospitable landlord, and more enamoured of his
bewitching sister.
At length the period fixed for the grand hunting arrived, and Waverley
and the Chieftain departed for the place of rendezvous, which was a
day's journey to the northward of Glennaquoich. Fergus was attended
on this occasion by about three hundred of his clan, well armed and
accoutred in their best fashion. Waverley complied so far with the
custom of the country as to adopt the trews (he could not be reconciled
to the kilt), brogues, and bonnet, as the fittest dress for the exercise in
which he was to be engaged, and which least exposed him to be stared
at as a stranger when they should reach the place of rendezvous. They
found on the spot appointed several powerful Chiefs, to all of whom
Waverley was formally presented, and by all cordially received. Their
vassals and clansmen, a part of whose feudal duty it was to attend on
these parties, appeared in such numbers as amounted to a small army.
These active assistants spread through the country far and near, forming
a circle, technically called the tinchel, which, gradually closing, drove
the deer in herds together towards the glen where the Chiefs and
principal sportsmen lay in wait for them. In the meanwhile these
distinguished personages bivouacked among the flowery heath,
wrapped up in their plaids, a mode of passing a summer's night which
Waverley found by no means unpleasant.
For many hours after sunrise the mountain ridges and passes retained
their ordinary appearance of silence and solitude, and the Chiefs, with
their followers, amused themselves with various pastimes, in which the
joys of the shell, as Ossian has it, were not forgotten. 'Others apart sate
on a hill retired,' probably as deeply engaged in the discussion of
politics and news as Milton's spirits in metaphysical disquisition. At
length signals of the approach of the game were descried and heard.
Distant shouts resounded from valley to valley, as the various parties of
Highlanders, climbing rocks, struggling through copses, wading brooks,
and traversing thickets, approached more and more near to each other,
and compelled the astonished deer, with the other wild animals that fled
before them, into a narrower circuit. Every now and then the report of
muskets was heard, repeated by a thousand echoes. The baying of the
dogs was soon added to the chorus, which grew ever louder and more
loud. At length the advanced parties of the deer began to show
themselves; and as the stragglers came bounding down the pass by two
or three at a time, the Chiefs showed their skill by distinguishing the
fattest deer, and their dexterity in bringing them down with their guns.
Fergus exhibited remarkable address, and Edward was also so fortunate
as to attract the notice and applause of the sportsmen.
But now the main body of the deer appeared at the head of the glen,
compelled into a very narrow compass, and presenting such a
formidable phalanx that their antlers appeared at a distance, over the
ridge of the steep pass, like a leafless grove. Their number was very
great, and from a desperate stand which they made, with the tallest of
the red-deer stags arranged in front, in a sort of battle-array, gazing on
the group which barred their passage down the glen, the more
experienced sportsmen began to augur danger. The work of destruction,
however, now commenced on all sides. Dogs and hunters were at work,
and muskets and fusees resounded from every quarter. The deer, driven
to desperation, made at length a fearful charge right upon the spot
where the more distinguished sportsmen had taken their stand. The
word was given in Gaelic to fling themselves upon their faces; but
Waverley, on whose English ears the signal was lost, had almost fallen
a sacrifice to his ignorance of the ancient language in which it was
communicated. Fergus, observing his danger, sprung up and pulled him
with violence to the ground, just as the whole herd broke down upon
them. The tide being absolutely irresistible, and wounds from a stag's
horn highly dangerous, the activity of the Chieftain may be considered,
on this occasion, as having saved his guest's life. He detained him with
a firm grasp until the whole herd of deer had fairly run over them.
Waverley then attempted to rise, but found that he had suffered several
very severe contusions, and, upon a further examination, discovered
that he had sprained his ankle violently.
[Footnote: The thrust from the tynes, or branches, of the stag's horns
was accounted far more dangerous than those of the boar's tusk:-If thou be hurt with horn of stag, it brings thee to thy bier, But barber's
hand shall boar's hurt heal, thereof have thou no fear.]
This checked the mirth of the meeting, although the Highlanders,
accustomed to such incidents, and prepared for them, had suffered no
harm themselves. A wigwam was erected almost in an instant, where
Edward was deposited on a couch of heather. The surgeon, or he who
assumed the office, appeared to unite the characters of a leech and a
conjuror. He was an old smoke-dried Highlander, wearing a venerable
grey beard, and having for his sole garment a tartan frock, the skirts of
which descended to the knee, and, being undivided in front, made the
vestment serve at once for doublet and breeches. [Footnote: This garb,
which resembled the dress often put on children in Scotland, called a
polonie (i. e. polonaise), is a very ancient modification of the Highland
garb. It was, in fact, the hauberk or shirt of mail, only composed of
cloth instead of rings of armour.] He observed great ceremony in
approaching Edward; and though our hero was writhing with pain,
would not proceed to any operation which might assuage it until he had
perambulated his couch three times, moving from east to west,
according to the course of the sun. This, which was called making the
deasil, [Footnote: Old Highlanders will still make the deasil around
those whom they wish well to. To go round a person in the opposite
direction, or withershins (German wider-shins), is unlucky, and a sort
of incantation.] both the leech and the assistants seemed to consider as
a matter of the last importance to the accomplishment of a cure; and
Waverley, whom pain rendered incapable of expostulation, and who
indeed saw no chance of its being attended to, submitted in silence.
After this ceremony was duly performed, the old Esculapius let his
patient's blood with a cupping-glass with great dexterity, and proceeded,
muttering all the while to himself in Gaelic, to boil on the fire certain
herbs, with which he compounded an embrocation. He then fomented
the parts which had sustained injury, never failing to murmur prayers or
spells, which of the two Waverley could not distinguish, as his ear only
caught the words Gaspar-Melchior-Balthazar-max-prax-fax, and
similar gibberish. The fomentation had a speedy effect in alleviating
the pain and swelling, which our hero imputed to the virtue of the herbs
or the effect of the chafing, but which was by the bystanders
unanimously ascribed to the spells with which the operation had been
accompanied. Edward was given to understand that not one of the
ingredients had been gathered except during the full moon, and that the
herbalist had, while collecting them, uniformly recited a charm, which
in English ran thus:--
Hail to thee, them holy herb, That sprung on holy ground! All in the
Mount Olivet First wert thou found. Thou art boot for many a bruise,
And healest many a wound; In our Lady's blessed name, I take thee
from the ground.
[Footnote: This metrical spell, or something very like it, is preserved by
Reginald Scott in his work on Witchcraft.]
Edward observed with some surprise that even Fergus, notwithstanding
his knowledge and education, seemed to fall in with the superstitious
ideas of his countrymen, either because he deemed it impolitic to affect
scepticism on a matter of general belief, or more probably because, ike
most men who do not think deeply or accurately on such subjects, he
had in his mind a reserve of superstition which balanced the freedom of
his expressions and practice upon other occasions. Waverley made no
commentary, therefore, on the manner of the treatment, but rewarded
the professor of medicine with a liberality beyond the utmost
conception of his wildest hopes. He uttered on the occasion so many
incoherent blessings in Gaelic and English that Mac-Ivor, rather
scandalised at the excess of his acknowledgments, cut them short by
exclaiming, Ceud mile mhalloich ort! i.e. 'A hundred thousand curses
on you!' and so pushed the helper of men out of the cabin.
After Waverley was left alone, the exhaustion of pain and fatigue--for
the whole day's exercise had been severe--threw him into a profound,
but yet a feverish sleep, which he chiefly owed to an opiate draught
administered by the old Highlander from some decoction of herbs in
his pharmacopoeia.
Early the next morning, the purpose of their meeting being over, and
their sports damped by the untoward accident, in which Fergus and all
his friends expressed the greatest sympathy, it became a question how
to dispose of the disabled sportsman. This was settled by Mac-Ivor,
who had a litter prepared, of 'birch and hazel-grey,'
[FOOTNOTE: On the morrow they made their biers Of birch and hazel
grey. Chevy Chase.] which was borne by his people with such caution
and dexterity as renders it not improbable that they may have been the
ancestors of some of those sturdy Gael who have now the happiness to
transport the belles of Edinburgh in their sedan-chairs to ten routs in
one evening. When Edward was elevated upon their shoulders he could
not help being gratified with the romantic effect produced by the
breaking up of this sylvan camp. [Footnote: See Note 25.]
The various tribes assembled, each at the pibroch of their native clan,
and each headed by their patriarchal ruler. Some, who had already
begun to retire, were seen winding up the hills, or descending the
passes which led to the scene of action, the sound of their bagpipes
dying upon the ear. Others made still a moving picture upon the narrow
plain, forming various changeful groups, their feathers and loose plaids
waving in the morning breeze, and their arms glittering in the rising sun.
Most of the Chiefs came to take farewell of Waverley, and to express
their anxious hope they might again, and speedily, meet; but the care of
Fergus abridged the ceremony of taking leave. At length, his own men
being completely assembled and mustered, Mac-Ivor commenced his
march, but not towards the quarter from which they had come. He gave
Edward to understand that the greater part of his followers now on the
field were bound on a distant expedition, and that when he had
deposited him in the house of a gentleman, who he was sure would pay
him every attention, he himself should be under the necessity of
accompanying them the greater part of the way, but would lose no time
in rejoining his friend.
Waverley was rather surprised that Fergus had not mentioned this
ulterior destination when they set out upon the hunting-party; but his
situation did not admit of many interrogatories. The greater part of the
clansmen went forward under the guidance of old Ballenkeiroch and
Evan Dhu Maccombich, apparently in high spirits. A few remained for
the purpose of escorting the Chieftain, who walked by the side of
Edward's litter, and attended him with the most affectionate assiduity.
About noon, after a journey which the nature of the conveyance, the
pain of his bruises, and the roughness of the way rendered
inexpressibly painful, Waverley was hospitably received into the house
of a gentleman related to Fergus, who had prepared for him every
accommodation which the simple habits of living then universal in the
Highlands put in his power. In this person, an old man about seventy,
Edward admired a relic of primitive simplicity. He wore no dress but
what his estate afforded; the cloth was the fleece of his own sheep,
woven by his own servants, and stained into tartan by the dyes
produced from the herbs and lichens of the hills around him. His linen
was spun by his daughters and maidservants, from his own flax; nor did
his table, though plentiful, and varied with game and fish, offer an
article but what was of native produce.
Claiming himself no rights of clanship or vassalage, he was fortunate in
the alliance and protection of Vich Ian Vohr and other bold and
enterprising Chieftains, who protected him in the quiet unambitious life
he loved. It is true, the youth born on his grounds were often enticed to
leave him for the service of his more active friends; but a few old
servants and tenants used to shake their grey locks when they heard
their master censured for want of spirit, and observed, 'When the wind
is still, the shower falls soft.' This good old man, whose charity and
hospitality were unbounded, would have received Waverley with
kindness had he been the meanest Saxon peasant, since his situation
required assistance. But his attention to a friend and guest of Vich Ian
Vohr was anxious and unremitted. Other embrocations were applied to
the injured limb, and new spells were put in practice. At length, after
more solicitude than was perhaps for the advantage of his health,
Fergus took farewell of Edward for a few days, when, he said, he
would return to Tomanrait, and hoped by that time Waverley would be
able to ride one of the Highland ponies of his landlord, and in that
manner return to Glennaquoich.
The next day, when his good old host appeared, Edward learned that
his friend had departed with the dawn, leaving none of his followers
except Callum Beg, the sort of foot-page who used to attend his person,
and who had now in charge to wait upon Waverley. On asking his host
if he knew where the Chieftain was gone, the old man looked fixedly at
him, with something mysterious and sad in the smile which was his
only reply. Waverley repeated his question, to which his host answered
in a proverb,--
What sent the messengers to hell, Was asking what they knew full well.
[Footnote: Corresponding to the Lowland saying, 'Mony ane speirs the
gate they ken fu' weel.']
He was about to proceed, but Callum Beg said, rather pertly, as Edward
thought, that 'Ta Tighearnach (i.e. the Chief) did not like ta Sassenagh
duinhe-wassel to be pingled wi' mickle speaking, as she was na tat
weel.' From this Waverley concluded he should disoblige his friend by
inquiring of a stranger the object of a journey which he himself had not
communicated.
It is unnecessary to trace the progress of our hero's recovery. The sixth
morning had arrived, and he was able to walk about with a staff, when
Fergus returned with about a score of his men. He seemed in the
highest spirits, congratulated Waverley on his progress towards
recovery, and finding he was able to sit on horseback, proposed their
immediate return to Glennaquoich. Waverley joyfully acceded, for the
form of its fair mistress had lived in his dreams during all the time of
his confinement.
Now he has ridden o'er moor and moss, O'er hill and many a glen,
Fergus, all the while, with his myrmidons, striding stoutly by his side,
or diverging to get a shot at a roe or a heath-cock. Waverley's bosom
beat thick when they approached the old tower of Ian nan Chaistel, and
could distinguish the fair form of its mistress advancing to meet them.
Fergus began immediately, with his usual high spirits, to exclaim,
'Open your gates, incomparable princess, to the wounded Moor
Abindarez, whom Rodrigo de Narvez, constable of Antiquera, conveys
to your castle; or open them, if you like it better, to the renowned
Marquis of Mantua, the sad attendant of his half-slain friend
Baldovinos of the Mountain. Ah, long rest to thy soul, Cervantes!
without quoting thy remnants, how should I frame my language to befit
romantic ears!'
Flora now advanced, and welcoming Waverley with much kindness,
expressed her regret for his accident, of which she had already heard
particulars, and her surprise that her brother should not have taken
better care to put a stranger on his guard against the perils of the sport
in which he engaged him. Edward easily exculpated the Chieftain, who,
indeed, at his own personal risk, had probably saved his life.
This greeting over, Fergus said three or four words to his sister in
Gaelic. The tears instantly sprung to her eyes, but they seemed to be
tears of devotion and joy, for she looked up to heaven and folded her
hands as in a solemn expression of prayer or gratitude. After the pause
of a minute, she presented to Edward some letters which had been
forwarded from Tully-Veolan during his absence, and at the same time
delivered some to her brother. To the latter she likewise gave three or
four numbers of the Caledonian Mercury, the only newspaper which
was then published to the north of the Tweed.
Both gentlemen retired to examine their despatches, and Edward
speedily found that those which he had received contained matters of
very deep interest.
CHAPTER XXV
NEWS FROM ENGLAND
The letters which Waverley had hitherto received from his relations in
England were not such as required any particular notice in this narrative.
His father usually wrote to him with the pompous affectation of one
who was too much oppressed by public affairs to find leisure to attend
to those of his own family. Now and then he mentioned persons of rank
in Scotland to whom he wished his son should pay some attention; but
Waverley, hitherto occupied by the amusements which he had found at
Tully-Veolan and Glennaquoich, dispensed with paying any attention
to hints so coldly thrown out, especially as distance, shortness of leave
of absence, and so forth furnished a ready apology. But latterly the
burden of Mr. Richard Waverley's paternal epistles consisted in certain
mysterious hints of greatness and influence which he was speedily to
attain, and which would ensure his son's obtaining the most rapid
promotion, should he remain in the military service. Sir Everard's
letters were of a different tenor. They were short; for the good Baronet
was none of your illimitable correspondents, whose manuscript
overflows the folds of their large post paper, and leaves no room for the
seal; but they were kind and affectionate, and seldom concluded
without some allusion to our hero's stud, some question about the state
of his purse, and a special inquiry after such of his recruits as had
preceded him from Waverley-Honour. Aunt Rachel charged him to
remember his principles of religion, to take care of his health, to
beware of Scotch mists, which, she had heard, would wet an
Englishman through and through, never to go out at night without his
great-coat, and, above all, to wear flannel next to his skin.
Mr. Pembroke only wrote to our hero one letter, but it was of the bulk
of six epistles of these degenerate days, containing, in the moderate
compass of ten folio pages, closely written, a precis of a supplementary
quarto manuscript of addenda, delenda, et corrigenda in reference to the
two tracts with which he had presented Waverley. This he considered
as a mere sop in the pan to stay the appetite of Edward's curiosity until
he should find an opportunity of sending down the volume itself, which
was much too heavy for the post, and which he proposed to accompany
with certain interesting pamphlets, lately published by his friend in
Little Britain, with whom he had kept up a sort of literary
correspondence, in virtue of which the library shelves of
Waverley-Honour were loaded with much trash, and a good round bill,
seldom summed in fewer than three figures, was yearly transmitted, in
which Sir Everard Waverley of Waverley-Honour, Bart., was marked
Dr. to Jonathan Grubbet, bookseller and stationer, Little Britain. Such
had hitherto been the style of the letters which Edward had received
from England; but the packet delivered to him at Glennaquoich was of
a different and more interesting complexion. It would be impossible for
the reader, even were I to insert the letters at full length, to comprehend
the real cause of their being written, without a glance into the interior
of the British cabinet at the period in question.
The ministers of the day happened (no very singular event) to be
divided into two parties; the weakest of which, making up by assiduity
of intrigue their inferiority in real consequence, had of late acquired
some new proselytes, and with them the hope of superseding their
rivals in the favour of their sovereign, and overpowering them in the
House of Commons. Amongst others, they had thought it worth while
to practise upon Richard Waverley. This honest gentleman, by a grave
mysterious demeanour, an attention to the etiquette of business rather
more than to its essence, a facility in making long dull speeches,
consisting of truisms and commonplaces, hashed up with a technical
jargon of office, which prevented the inanity of his orations from being
discovered, had acquired a certain name and credit in public life, and
even established, with many, the character of a profound politician;
none of your shining orators, indeed, whose talents evaporate in tropes
of rhetoric and flashes of wit, but one possessed of steady parts for
business, which would wear well, as the ladies say in choosing their
silks, and ought in all reason to be good for common and every-day use,
since they were confessedly formed of no holiday texture.
This faith had become so general that the insurgent party in the cabinet,
of which we have made mention, after sounding Mr. Richard Waverley,
were so satisfied with his sentiments and abilities as to propose that, in
case of a certain revolution in the ministry, he should take an ostensible
place in the new order of things, not indeed of the very first rank, but
greatly higher, in point both of emolument and influence, than that
which he now enjoyed. There was no resisting so tempting a proposal,
notwithstanding that the Great Man under whose patronage he had
enlisted, and by whose banner he had hitherto stood firm, was the
principal object of the proposed attack by the new allies. Unfortunately
this fair scheme of ambition was blighted in the very bud by a
premature movement. All the official gentlemen concerned in it who
hesitated to take the part of a voluntary resignation were informed that
the king had no further occasion for their services; and in Richard
Waverley's case, which the minister considered as aggravated by
ingratitude, dismissal was accompanied by something like personal
contempt and contumely. The public, and even the party of whom he
shared the fall, sympathised little in the disappointment of this selfish
and interested statesman; and he retired to the country under the
comfortable reflection that he had lost, at the same time, character,
credit, and,--what he at least equally deplored,--emolument.
Richard Waverley's letter to his son upon this occasion was a
masterpiece of its kind. Aristides himself could not have made out a
harder case. An unjust monarch and an ungrateful country were the
burden of each rounded paragraph. He spoke of long services and
unrequited sacrifices; though the former had been overpaid by his
salary, and nobody could guess in what the latter consisted, unless it
were in his deserting, not from conviction, but for the lucre of gain, the
Tory principles of his family. In the conclusion, his resentment was
wrought to such an excess by the force of his own oratory, that he could
not repress some threats of vengeance, however vague and impotent,
and finally acquainted his son with his pleasure that he should testify
his sense of the ill-treatment he had sustained by throwing up his
commission as soon as the letter reached him. This, he said, was also
his uncle's desire, as he would himself intimate in due course.
Accordingly, the next letter which Edward opened was from Sir
Everard. His brother's disgrace seemed to have removed from his
well-natured bosom all recollection of their differences, and, remote as
he was from every means of learning that Richard's disgrace was in
reality only the just as well as natural consequence of his own
unsuccessful intrigues, the good but credulous Baronet at once set it
down as a new and enormous instance of the injustice of the existing
government. It was true, he said, and he must not disguise it even from
Edward, that his father could not have sustained such an insult as was
now, for the first time, offered to one of his house, unless he had
subjected himself to it by accepting of an employment under the
present system. Sir Everard had no doubt that he now both saw and felt
the magnitude of this error, and it should be his (Sir Everard's) business
to take care that the cause of his regret should not extend itself to
pecuniary consequences. It was enough for a Waverley to have
sustained the public disgrace; the patrimonial injury could easily be
obviated by the head of their family. But it was both the opinion of Mr.
Richard Waverley and his own that Edward, the representative of the
family of Waverley-Honour, should not remain in a situation which
subjected him also to such treatment as that with which his father had
been stigmatised. He requested his nephew therefore to take the fittest,
and at the same time the most speedy, opportunity of transmitting his
resignation to the War Office, and hinted, moreover, that little
ceremony was necessary where so little had been used to his father. He
sent multitudinous greetings to the Baron of Bradwardine.
A letter from Aunt Rachel spoke out even more plainly. She considered
the disgrace of brother Richard as the just reward of his forfeiting his
allegiance to a lawful though exiled sovereign, and taking the oaths to
an alien; a concession which her grandfather, Sir Nigel Waverley,
refused to make, either to the Roundhead Parliament or to Cromwell,
when his life and fortune stood in the utmost extremity. She hoped her
dear Edward would follow the footsteps of his ancestors, and as
speedily as possible get rid of the badge of servitude to the usurping
family, and regard the wrongs sustained by his father as an admonition
from Heaven that every desertion of the line of loyalty becomes its own
punishment. She also concluded with her respects to Mr. Bradwardine,
and begged Waverley would inform her whether his daughter, Miss
Rose, was old enough to wear a pair of very handsome ear-rings, which
she proposed to send as a token of her affection. The good lady also
desired to be informed whether Mr. Bradwardine took as much Scotch
snuff and danced as unweariedly as he did when he was at
Waverley-Honour about thirty years ago.
These letters, as might have been expected, highly excited Waverley's
indignation. From the desultory style of his studies, he had not any
fixed political opinion to place in opposition to the movements of
indignation which he felt at his father's supposed wrongs. Of the real
cause of his disgrace Edward was totally ignorant; nor had his habits at
all led him to investigate the politics of the period in which he lived, or
remark the intrigues in which his father had been so actively engaged.
Indeed, any impressions which he had accidentally adopted concerning
the parties of the times were (owing to the society in which he had
lived at Waverley-Honour) of a nature rather unfavourable to the
existing government and dynasty. He entered, therefore, without
hesitation into the resentful feeling of the relations who had the best
title to dictate his conduct, and not perhaps the less willingly when he
remembered the tedium of his quarters, and the inferior figure which he
had made among the officers of his regiment. If he could have had any
doubt upon the subject it would have been decided by the following
letter from his commanding officer, which, as it is very short, shall be
inserted verbatim:-SIR,-Having carried somewhat beyond the line of my duty an indulgence
which even the lights of nature, and much more those of Christianity,
direct towards errors which may arise from youth and inexperience, and
that altogether without effect, I am reluctantly compelled, at the present
crisis, to use the only remaining remedy which is in my power. You are,
therefore, hereby commanded to repair to ----, the headquarters of the
regiment, within three days after the date of this letter. If you shall fail
to do so, I must report you to the War Office as absent without leave,
and also take other steps, which will be disagreeable to you as well as
to,
Sir,
Your obedient Servant,
J. GARDINER, Lieut.-Col.
Commanding the----Regt. Dragoons.
Edward's blood boiled within him as he read this letter. He had been
accustomed from his very infancy to possess in a great measure the
disposal of his own time, and thus acquired habits which rendered the
rules of military discipline as unpleasing to him in this as they were in
some other respects. An idea that in his own case they would not be
enforced in a very rigid manner had also obtained full possession of his
mind, and had hitherto been sanctioned by the indulgent conduct of his
lieutenant-colonel. Neither had anything occurred, to his knowledge,
that should have induced his commanding officer, without any other
warning than the hints we noticed at the end of the fourteenth chapter,
so suddenly to assume a harsh and, as Edward deemed it, so insolent a
tone of dictatorial authority. Connecting it with the letters he had just
received from his family, he could not but suppose that it was designed
to make him feel, in his present situation, the same pressure of
authority which had been exercised in his father's case, and that the
whole was a concerted scheme to depress and degrade every member of
the Waverley family.
Without a pause, therefore, Edward wrote a few cold lines, thanking his
lieutenant-colonel for past civilities, and expressing regret that he
should have chosen to efface the remembrance of them by assuming a
different tone towards him. The strain of his letter, as well as what he
(Edward) conceived to be his duty in the present crisis, called upon him
to lay down his commission; and he therefore inclosed the formal
resignation of a situation which subjected him to so unpleasant a
correspondence, and requested Colonel Gardiner would have the
goodness to forward it to the proper authorities.
Having finished this magnanimous epistle, he felt somewhat uncertain
concerning the terms in which his resignation ought to be expressed,
upon which subject he resolved to consult Fergus Mac-Ivor. It may be
observed in passing that the bold and prompt habits of thinking, acting,
and speaking which distinguished this young Chieftain had given him a
considerable ascendency over the mind of Waverley. Endowed with at
least equal powers of understanding, and with much finer genius,
Edward yet stooped to the bold and decisive activity of an intellect
which was sharpened by the habit of acting on a preconceived and
regular system, as well as by extensive knowledge of the world.
When Edward found his friend, the latter had still in his hand the
newspaper which he had perused, and advanced to meet him with the
embarrassment of one who has unpleasing news to communicate. 'Do
your letters, Captain Waverley, confirm the unpleasing information
which I find in this paper?'
He put the paper into his hand, where his father's disgrace was
registered in the most bitter terms, transferred probably from some
London journal. At the end of the paragraph was this remarkable
innuendo:--
'We understand that "this same RICHARD who hath done all this" is
not the only example of the WAVERING HONOUR of W-v-r-ly H-n-r.
See the Gazette of this day.'
With hurried and feverish apprehension our hero turned to the place
referred to, and found therein recorded, 'Edward Waverley, captain
in----regiment dragoons, superseded for absence without leave'; and in
the list of military promotions, referring to the same regiment, he
discovered this farther article, 'Lieut. Julius Butler, to be captain, VICE
Edward Waverley, superseded.'
Our hero's bosom glowed with the resentment which undeserved and
apparently premeditated insult was calculated to excite in the bosom of
one who had aspired after honour, and was thus wantonly held up to
public scorn and disgrace. Upon comparing the date of his colonel's
letter with that of the article in the Gazette, he perceived that his threat
of making a report upon his absence had been literally fulfilled, and
without inquiry, as it seemed, whether Edward had either received his
summons or was disposed to comply with it. The whole, therefore,
appeared a formed plan to degrade him in the eyes of the public; and
the idea of its having succeeded filled him with such bitter emotions
that, after various attempts to conceal them, he at length threw himself
into Mac-Ivor's arms, and gave vent to tears of shame and indignation.
It was none of this Chieftain's faults to be indifferent to the wrongs of
his friends; and for Edward, independent of certain plans with which he
was connected, he felt a deep and sincere interest. The proceeding
appeared as extraordinary to him as it had done to Edward. He indeed
knew of more motives than Waverley was privy to for the peremptory
order that he should join his regiment. But that, without further inquiry
into the circumstances of a necessary delay, the commanding officer, in
contradiction to his known and established character, should have
proceeded in so harsh and unusual a manner was a mystery which he
could not penetrate. He soothed our hero, however, to the best of his
power, and began to turn his thoughts on revenge for his insulted
honour.
Edward eagerly grasped at the idea. 'Will you carry a message for me to
Colonel Gardiner, my dear Fergus, and oblige me for ever?'
Fergus paused. 'It is an act of friendship which you should command,
could it be useful, or lead to the righting your honour; but in the present
case I doubt if your commanding officer would give you the meeting
on account of his having taken measures which, however harsh and
exasperating, were still within the strict bounds of his duty. Besides,
Gardiner is a precise Huguenot, and has adopted certain ideas about the
sinfulness of such rencontres, from which it would be impossible to
make him depart, especially as his courage is beyond all suspicion. And
besides, I--I, to say the truth--I dare not at this moment, for some very
weighty reasons, go near any of the military quarters or garrisons
belonging to this government.'
'And am I,' said Waverley, 'to sit down quiet and contented under the
injury I have received?'
'That will I never advise my friend,' replied Mac-Ivor. 'But I would
have vengeance to fall on the head, not on the hand, on the tyrannical
and oppressive government which designed and directed these
premeditated and reiterated insults, not on the tools of office which
they employed in the execution of the injuries they aimed at you.'
'On the government!' said Waverley.
'Yes,' replied the impetuous Highlander, 'on the usurping House of
Hanover, whom your grandfather would no more have served than he
would have taken wages of red-hot gold from the great fiend of hell!'
'But since the time of my grandfather two generations of this dynasty
have possessed the throne,' said Edward coolly.
'True,' replied the Chieftain; 'and because we have passively given them
so long the means of showing their native character,--because both you
and I myself have lived in quiet submission, have even truckled to the
times so far as to accept commissions under them, and thus have given
them an opportunity of disgracing us publicly by resuming them, are
we not on that account to resent injuries which our fathers only
apprehended, but which we have actually sustained? Or is the cause of
the unfortunate Stuart family become less just, because their title has
devolved upon an heir who is innocent of the charges of
misgovernment brought against his father? Do you remember the lines
of your favourite poet?
Had Richard unconstrain'd resign'd the throne, A king can give no more
than is his own; The title stood entail'd had Richard had a son.
You see, my dear Waverley, I can quote poetry as well as Flora and
you. But come, clear your moody brow, and trust to me to show you an
honourable road to a speedy and glorious revenge. Let us seek Flora,
who perhaps has more news to tell us of what has occurred during our
absence. She will rejoice to hear that you are relieved of your servitude.
But first add a postscript to your letter, marking the time when you
received this calvinistical colonel's first summons, and express your
regret that the hastiness of his proceedings prevented your anticipating
them by sending your resignation. Then let him blush for his injustice.'
The letter was sealed accordingly, covering a formal resignation of the
commission, and Mac-Ivor despatched it with some letters of his own
by a special messenger, with charge to put them into the nearest
post-office in the Lowlands.
CHAPTER XXVI
AN ECLAIRCISSEMENT
The hint which the Chieftain had thrown out respecting Flora was not
unpremeditated. He had observed with great satisfaction the growing
attachment of Waverley to his sister, nor did he see any bar to their
union, excepting the situation which Waverley's father held in the
ministry, and Edward's own commission in the army of George II.
These obstacles were now removed, and in a manner which apparently
paved the way for the son's becoming reconciled to another allegiance.
In every other respect the match would be most eligible. The safety,
happiness, and honourable provision of his sister, whom he dearly
loved, appeared to be ensured by the proposed union; and his heart
swelled when he considered how his own interest would be exalted in
the eyes of the ex-monarch to whom he had dedicated his service, by an
alliance with one of those ancient, powerful, and wealthy English
families of the steady cavalier faith, to awaken whose decayed
attachment to the Stuart family was now a matter of such vital
importance to the Stuart cause. Nor could Fergus perceive any obstacle
to such a scheme. Waverley's attachment was evident; and as his person
was handsome, and his taste apparently coincided with her own, he
anticipated no opposition on the part of Flora. Indeed, between his
ideas of patriarchal power and those which he had acquired in France
respecting the disposal of females in marriage, any opposition from his
sister, dear as she was to him, would have been the last obstacle on
which he would have calculated, even had the union been less eligible.
Influenced by these feelings, the Chief now led Waverley in quest of
Miss Mac-Ivor, not without the hope that the present agitation of his
guest's spirits might give him courage to cut short what Fergus termed
the romance of the courtship. They found Flora, with her faithful
attendants, Una and Cathleen, busied in preparing what appeared to
Waverley to be white bridal favours. Disguising as well as he could the
agitation of his mind, Waverley asked for what joyful occasion Miss
Mac-Ivor made such ample preparation.
'It is for Fergus's bridal,' she said, smiling.
'Indeed!' said Edward; 'he has kept his secret well. I hope he will allow
me to be his bride's-man.'
'That is a man's office, but not yours, as Beatrice says,' retorted Flora.
'And who is the fair lady, may I be permitted to ask, Miss Mac-Ivor?'
'Did not I tell you long since that Fergus wooed no bride but Honour?'
answered Flora.
'And am I then incapable of being his assistant and counsellor in the
pursuit of honour?' said our hero, colouring deeply. 'Do I rank so low in
your opinion?'
'Far from it, Captain Waverley. I would to God you were of our
determination! and made use of the expression which displeased you,
solely
Because you are not of our quality, But stand against us as an enemy.'
'That time is past, sister,' said Fergus; 'and you may wish Edward
Waverley (no longer captain) joy of being freed from the slavery to an
usurper, implied in that sable and ill-omened emblem.'
'Yes,' said Waverley, undoing the cockade from his hat, 'it has pleased
the king who bestowed this badge upon me to resume it in a manner
which leaves me little reason to regret his service.'
'Thank God for that!' cried the enthusiast; 'and O that they may be blind
enough to treat every man of honour who serves them with the same
indignity, that I may have less to sigh for when the struggle
approaches!'
'And now, sister,' said the Chieftain, 'replace his cockade with one of a
more lively colour. I think it was the fashion of the ladies of yore to
arm and send forth their knights to high achievement.'
'Not,' replied the lady, 'till the knight adventurer had well weighed the
justice and the danger of the cause, Fergus. Mr. Waverley is just now
too much agitated by feelings of recent emotion for me to press upon
him a resolution of consequence.'
Waverley felt half alarmed at the thought of adopting the badge of what
was by the majority of the kingdom esteemed rebellion, yet he could
not disguise his chagrin at the coldness with which Flora parried her
brother's hint. 'Miss Mac-Ivor, I perceive, thinks the knight unworthy of
her encouragement and favour,' said he, somewhat bitterly.
'Not so, Mr. Waverley,' she replied, with great sweetness. 'Why should
I refuse my brother's valued friend a boon which I am distributing to
his whole clan? Most willingly would I enlist every man of honour in
the cause to which my brother has devoted himself. But Fergus has
taken his measures with his eyes open. His life has been devoted to this
cause from his cradle; with him its call is sacred, were it even a
summons to the tomb. But how can I wish you, Mr. Waverley, so new
to the world, so far from every friend who might advise and ought to
influence you,--in a moment, too, of sudden pique and
indignation,--how can I wish you to plunge yourself at once into so
desperate an enterprise?'
Fergus, who did not understand these delicacies, strode through the
apartment biting his lip, and then, with a constrained smile, said, 'Well,
sister, I leave you to act your new character of mediator between the
Elector of Hanover and the subjects of your lawful sovereign and
benefactor,' and left the room.
There was a painful pause, which was at length broken by Miss
Mac-Ivor. 'My brother is unjust,' she said, 'because he can bear no
interruption that seems to thwart his loyal zeal.'
'And do you not share his ardour?' asked Waverley,
'Do I not?' answered Flora. 'God knows mine exceeds his, if that be
possible. But I am not, like him, rapt by the bustle of military
preparation, and the infinite detail necessary to the present undertaking,
beyond consideration of the grand principles of justice and truth, on
which our enterprise is grounded; and these, I am certain, can only be
furthered by measures in themselves true and just. To operate upon
your present feelings, my dear Mr. Waverley, to induce you to an
irretrievable step, of which you have not considered either the justice or
the danger, is, in my poor judgment, neither the one nor the other.'
'Incomparable Flora!' said Edward, taking her hand, 'how much do I
need such a monitor!'
'A better one by far,' said Flora, gently withdrawing her hand, 'Mr.
Waverley will always find in his own bosom, when he will give its
small still voice leisure to be heard.'
'No, Miss Mac-Ivor, I dare not hope it; a thousand circumstances of
fatal self-indulgence have made me the creature rather of imagination
than reason. Durst I but hope--could I but think--that you would deign
to be to me that affectionate, that condescending friend, who would
strengthen me to redeem my errors, my future life--'
'Hush, my dear sir! now you carry your joy at escaping the hands of a
Jacobite recruiting officer to an unparalleled excess of gratitude.'
'Nay, dear Flora, trifle with me no longer; you cannot mistake the
meaning of those feelings which I have almost involuntarily expressed;
and since I have broken the barrier of silence, let me profit by my
audacity. Or may I, with your permission, mention to your brother--'
'Not for the world, Mr. Waverley!'
'What am I to understand?' said Edward. 'Is there any fatal bar--has any
prepossession--'
'None, sir,' answered Flora. 'I owe it to myself to say that I never yet
saw the person on whom I thought with reference to the present
subject.'
'The shortness of our acquaintance, perhaps--If Miss Mac-Ivor will
deign to give me time--'
'I have not even that excuse. Captain Waverley's character is so
open--is, in short, of that nature that it cannot be misconstrued, either in
its strength or its weakness.'
'And for that weakness you despise me?' said Edward.
'Forgive me, Mr. Waverley--and remember it is but within this half
hour that there existed between us a barrier of a nature to me
insurmountable, since I never could think of an officer in the service of
the Elector of Hanover in any other light than as a casual acquaintance.
Permit me then to arrange my ideas upon so unexpected a topic, and in
less than an hour I will be ready to give you such reasons for the
resolution I shall express as may be satisfactory at least, if not pleasing
to you.' So saying Flora withdrew, leaving Waverley to meditate upon
the manner in which she had received his addresses.
Ere he could make up his mind whether to believe his suit had been
acceptable or no, Fergus re-entered the apartment. 'What, a la mort,
Waverley?' he cried. 'Come down with me to the court, and you shall
see a sight worth all the tirades of your romances. An hundred firelocks,
my friend, and as many broadswords, just arrived from good friends;
and two or three hundred stout fellows almost fighting which shall first
possess them. But let me look at you closer. Why, a true Highlander
would say you had been blighted by an evil eye. Or can it be this silly
girl that has thus blanked your spirit. Never mind her, dear Edward; the
wisest of her sex are fools in what regards the business of life.'
'Indeed, my good friend,' answered Waverley, 'all that I can charge
against your sister is, that she is too sensible, too reasonable.'
'If that be all, I ensure you for a louis-d'or against the mood lasting
four-and-twenty hours. No woman was ever steadily sensible for that
period; and I will engage, if that will please you, Flora shall be as
unreasonable to-morrow as any of her sex. You must learn, my dear
Edward, to consider women en mousquetaire.' So saying, he seized
Waverley's arm and dragged him off to review his military
preparations.
CHAPTER XXVII
UPON THE SAME SUBJECT
Fergus Mac-Ivor had too much tact and delicacy to renew the subject
which he had interrupted. His head was, or appeared to be, so full of
guns, broadswords, bonnets, canteens, and tartan hose that Waverley
could not for some time draw his attention to any other topic.
'Are you to take the field so soon, Fergus,' he asked, 'that you are
making all these martial preparations?'
'When we have settled that you go with me, you shall know all; but
otherwise, the knowledge might rather be prejudicial to you.'
'But are you serious in your purpose, with such inferior forces, to rise
against an established government? It is mere frenzy.'
'Laissez faire a Don Antoine; I shall take good care of myself. We shall
at least use the compliment of Conan, who never got a stroke but he
gave one. I would not, however,' continued the Chieftain, 'have you
think me mad enough to stir till a favourable opportunity: I will not slip
my dog before the game's afoot. But, once more, will you join with us,
and you shall know all?'
'How can I?' said Waverley; 'I, who have so lately held that commission
which is now posting back to those that gave it? My accepting it
implied a promise of fidelity, and an acknowledgment of the legality of
the government.'
'A rash promise,' answered Fergus, 'is not a steel handcuff, it may be
shaken off, especially when it was given under deception, and has been
repaid by insult. But if you cannot immediately make up your mind to a
glorious revenge, go to England, and ere you cross the Tweed you will
hear tidings that will make the world ring; and if Sir Everard be the
gallant old cavalier I have heard him described by some of our
HONEST gentlemen of the year one thousand seven hundred and
fifteen, he will find you a better horse-troop and a better cause than you
have lost.'
'But your sister, Fergus?'
'Out, hyperbolical fiend!' replied the Chief, laughing; 'how vexest thou
this man! Speak'st thou of nothing but of ladies?'
'Nay, be serious, my dear friend,' said Waverley; 'I feel that the
happiness of my future life must depend upon the answer which Miss
Mac-Ivor shall make to what I ventured to tell her this morning.'
'And is this your very sober earnest,' said Fergus, more gravely, 'or are
we in the land of romance and fiction?'
'My earnest, undoubtedly. How could you suppose me jesting on such a
subject?'
'Then, in very sober earnest,' answered his friend, 'I am very glad to
hear it; and so highly do I think of Flora, that you are the only man in
England for whom I would say so much. But before you shake my hand
so warmly, there is more to be considered. Your own family--will they
approve your connecting yourself with the sister of a high-born
Highland beggar?'
'My uncle's situation,' said Waverley, 'his general opinions, and his
uniform indulgence, entitle me to say, that birth and personal qualities
are all he would look to in such a connection. And where can I find
both united in such excellence as in your sister?'
'O nowhere! cela va sans dire,' replied Fergus, with a smile. 'But your
father will expect a father's prerogative in being consulted.'
'Surely; but his late breach with the ruling powers removes all
apprehension of objection on his part, especially as I am convinced that
my uncle will be warm in my cause.'
'Religion perhaps,' said Fergus, 'may make obstacles, though we are not
bigotted Catholics.'
'My grandmother was of the Church of Rome, and her religion was
never objected to by my family. Do not think of MY friends, dear
Fergus; let me rather have your influence where it may be more
necessary to remove obstacles--I mean with your lovely sister.'
'My lovely sister,' replied Fergus, 'like her loving brother, is very apt to
have a pretty decisive will of her own, by which, in this case, you must
be ruled; but you shall not want my interest, nor my counsel. And, in
the first place, I will give you one hint--Loyalty is her ruling passion;
and since she could spell an English book she has been in love with the
memory of the gallant Captain Wogan, who renounced the service of
the usurper Cromwell to join the standard of Charles II, marched a
handful of cavalry from London to the Highlands to join Middleton,
then in arms for the king, and at length died gloriously in the royal
cause. Ask her to show you some verses she made on his history and
fate; they have been much admired, I assure you. The next point is--I
think I saw Flora go up towards the waterfall a short time since; follow,
man, follow! don't allow the garrison time to strengthen its purposes of
resistance. Alerte a la muraille! Seek Flora out, and learn her decision
as soon as you can, and Cupid go with you, while I go to look over
belts and cartouch-boxes.'
Waverley ascended the glen with an anxious and throbbing heart. Love,
with all its romantic train of hopes, fears, and wishes, was mingled with
other feelings of a nature less easily defined. He could not but
remember how much this morning had changed his fate, and into what
a complication of perplexity it was likely to plunge him. Sunrise had
seen him possessed of an esteemed rank in the honourable profession of
arms, his father to all appearance rapidly rising in the favour of his
sovereign. All this had passed away like a dream: he himself was
dishonoured, his father disgraced, and he had become involuntarily the
confidant at least, if not the accomplice, of plans, dark, deep, and
dangerous, which must infer either the subversion of the government he
had so lately served or the destruction of all who had participated in
them. Should Flora even listen to his suit favourably, what prospect
was there of its being brought to a happy termination amid the tumult
of an impending insurrection? Or how could he make the selfish
request that she should leave Fergus, to whom she was so much
attached, and, retiring with him to England, wait, as a distant spectator,
the success of her brother's undertaking, or the ruin of all his hopes and
fortunes? Or, on the other hand, to engage himself, with no other aid
than his single arm, in the dangerous and precipitate counsels of the
Chieftain, to be whirled along by him, the partaker of all his desperate
and impetuous motions, renouncing almost the power of judging, or
deciding upon the rectitude or prudence of his actions, this was no
pleasing prospect for the secret pride of Waverley to stoop to. And yet
what other conclusion remained, saving the rejection of his addresses
by Flora, an alternative not to be thought of in the present high-wrought
state of his feelings with anything short of mental agony. Pondering the
doubtful and dangerous prospect before him, he at length arrived near
the cascade, where, as Fergus had augured, he found Flora seated.
She was quite alone, and as soon as she observed his approach she rose
and came to meet him. Edward attempted to say something within the
verge of ordinary compliment and conversation, but found himself
unequal to the task. Flora seemed at first equally embarrassed, but
recovered herself more speedily, and (an unfavourable augury for
Waverley's suit) was the first to enter upon the subject of their last
interview. 'It is too important, in every point of view, Mr. Waverley, to
permit me to leave you in doubt on my sentiments.'
'Do not speak them speedily,' said Waverley, much agitated, 'unless
they are such as I fear, from your manner, I must not dare to anticipate.
Let time--let my future conduct--let your brother's influence--'
'Forgive me, Mr. Waverley,' said Flora, her complexion a little
heightened, but her voice firm and composed. 'I should incur my own
heavy censure did I delay expressing my sincere conviction that I can
never regard you otherwise than as a valued friend. I should do you the
highest injustice did I conceal my sentiments for a moment. I see I
distress you, and I grieve for it, but better now than later; and O, better
a thousand times, Mr. Waverley, that you should feel a present
momentary disappointment than the long and heart-sickening griefs
which attend a rash and ill-assorted marriage!'
'Good God!' exclaimed Waverley, 'why should you anticipate such
consequences from a union where birth is equal, where fortune is
favourable, where, if I may venture to say so, the tastes are similar,
where you allege no preference for another, where you even express a
favourable opinion of him whom you reject?'
'Mr. Waverley, I HAVE that favourable opinion,' answered Flora; 'and
so strongly that, though I would rather have been silent on the grounds
of my resolution, you shall command them, if you exact such a mark of
my esteem and confidence.'
She sat down upon a fragment of rock, and Waverley, placing himself
near her, anxiously pressed for the explanation she offered.
'I dare hardly,' she said, 'tell you the situation of my feelings, they are
so different from those usually ascribed to young women at my period
of life; and I dare hardly touch upon what I conjecture to be the nature
of yours, lest I should give offence where I would willingly administer
consolation. For myself, from my infancy till this day I have had but
one wish--the restoration of my royal benefactors to their rightful
throne. It is impossible to express to you the devotion of my feelings to
this single subject; and I will frankly confess that it has so occupied my
mind as to exclude every thought respecting what is called my own
settlement in life. Let me but live to see the day of that happy
restoration, and a Highland cottage, a French convent, or an English
palace will be alike indifferent to me.'
'But, dearest Flora, how is your enthusiastic zeal for the exiled family
inconsistent with my happiness?'
'Because you seek, or ought to seek, in the object of your attachment a
heart whose principal delight should be in augmenting your domestic
felicity and returning your affection, even to the height of romance. To
a man of less keen sensibility, and less enthusiastic tenderness of
disposition, Flora Mac-Ivor might give content, if not happiness; for,
were the irrevocable words spoken, never would she be deficient in the
duties which she vowed.'
'And why,--why, Miss Mac-Ivor, should you think yourself a more
valuable treasure to one who is less capable of loving, of admiring you,
than to me?'
'Simply because the tone of our affections would be more in unison,
and because his more blunted sensibility would not require the return of
enthusiasm which I have not to bestow. But you, Mr. Waverley, would
for ever refer to the idea of domestic happiness which your imagination
is capable of painting, and whatever fell short of that ideal
representation would be construed into coolness and indifference, while
you might consider the enthusiasm with which I regarded the success
of the royal family as defrauding your affection of its due return.'
'In other words, Miss Mac-Ivor, you cannot love me?' said her suitor
dejectedly.
'I could esteem you, Mr. Waverley, as much, perhaps more, than any
man I have ever seen; but I cannot love you as you ought to be loved. O!
do not, for your own sake, desire so hazardous an experiment! The
woman whom you marry ought to have affections and opinions
moulded upon yours. Her studies ought to be your studies; her wishes,
her feelings, her hopes, her fears, should all mingle with yours. She
should enhance your pleasures, share your sorrows, and cheer your
melancholy.'
'And why will not you, Miss Mac-Ivor, who can so well describe a
happy union, why will not you be yourself the person you describe?'
'Is it possible you do not yet comprehend me?' answered Flora. 'Have I
not told you that every keener sensation of my mind is bent exclusively
towards an event upon which, indeed, I have no power but those of my
earnest prayers?'
'And might not the granting the suit I solicit,' said Waverley, too
earnest on his purpose to consider what he was about to say, 'even
advance the interest to which you have devoted yourself? My family is
wealthy and powerful, inclined in principles to the Stuart race, and
should a favourable opportunity--'
'A favourable opportunity!' said Flora--somewhat scornfully. 'Inclined
in principles! Can such lukewarm adherence be honourable to
yourselves, or gratifying to your lawful sovereign? Think, from my
present feelings, what I should suffer when I held the place of member
in a family where the rights which I hold most sacred are subjected to
cold discussion, and only deemed worthy of support when they shall
appear on the point of triumphing without it!'
'Your doubts,' quickly replied Waverley, 'are unjust as far as concerns
myself. The cause that I shall assert, I dare support through every
danger, as undauntedly as the boldest who draws sword in its behalf.'
'Of that,' answered Flora, 'I cannot doubt for a moment. But consult
your own good sense and reason rather than a prepossession hastily
adopted, probably only because you have met a young woman
possessed of the usual accomplishments in a sequestered and romantic
situation. Let your part in this great and perilous drama rest upon
conviction, and not on a hurried and probably a temporary feeling.'
Waverley attempted to reply, but his words failed him. Every sentiment
that Flora had uttered vindicated the strength of his attachment; for
even her loyalty, although wildly enthusiastic, was generous and noble,
and disdained to avail itself of any indirect means of supporting the
cause to which she was devoted.
After walking a little way in silence down the path, Flora thus resumed
the conversation.--'One word more, Mr. Waverley, ere we bid farewell
to this topic for ever; and forgive my boldness if that word have the air
of advice. My brother Fergus is anxious that you should join him in his
present enterprise. But do not consent to this; you could not, by your
single exertions, further his success, and you would inevitably share his
fall, if it be God's pleasure that fall he must. Your character would also
suffer irretrievably. Let me beg you will return to your own country;
and, having publicly freed yourself from every tie to the usurping
government, I trust you will see cause, and find opportunity, to serve
your injured sovereign with effect, and stand forth, as your loyal
ancestors, at the head of your natural followers and adherents, a worthy
representative of the house of Waverley.'
'And should I be so happy as thus to distinguish myself, might I not
hope--'
'Forgive my interruption,' said Flora. 'The present time only is ours, and
I can but explain to you with candour the feelings which I now
entertain; how they might be altered by a train of events too favourable
perhaps to be hoped for, it were in vain even to conjecture. Only be
assured, Mr. Waverley, that, after my brother's honour and happiness,
there is none which I shall more sincerely pray for than for yours.'
With these words she parted from him, for they were now arrived
where two paths separated. Waverley reached the castle amidst a
medley of conflicting passions. He avoided any private interview with
Fergus, as he did not find himself able either to encounter his raillery or
reply to his solicitations. The wild revelry of the feast, for Mac-Ivor
kept open table for his clan, served in some degree to stun reflection.
When their festivity was ended, he began to consider how he should
again meet Miss Mac-Ivor after the painful and interesting explanation
of the morning. But Flora did not appear. Fergus, whose eyes flashed
when he was told by Cathleen that her mistress designed to keep her
apartment that evening, went himself in quest of her; but apparently his
remonstrances were in vain, for he returned with a heightened
complexion and manifest symptoms of displeasure. The rest of the
evening passed on without any allusion, on the part either of Fergus or
Waverley, to the subject which engrossed the reflections of the latter,
and perhaps of both.
When retired to his own apartment, Edward endeavoured to sum up the
business of the day. That the repulse he had received from Flora would
be persisted in for the present, there was no doubt. But could he hope
for ultimate success in case circumstances permitted the renewal of his
suit? Would the enthusiastic loyalty, which at this animating moment
left no room for a softer passion, survive, at least in its engrossing force,
the success or the failure of the present political machinations? And if
so, could he hope that the interest which she had acknowledged him to
possess in her favour might be improved into a warmer attachment? He
taxed his memory to recall every word she had used, with the
appropriate looks and gestures which had enforced them, and ended by
finding himself in the same state of uncertainty. It was very late before
sleep brought relief to the tumult of his mind, after the most painful and
agitating day which he had ever passed.
CHAPTER XXVIII
A LETTER FROM TULLY-VEOLAN
In the morning, when Waverley's troubled reflections had for some
time given way to repose, there came music to his dreams, but not the
voice of Selma. He imagined himself transported back to Tully-Veolan,
and that he heard Davie Gellatley singing in the court those matins
which used generally to be the first sounds that disturbed his repose
while a guest of the Baron of Bradwardine. The notes which suggested
this vision continued, and waxed louder, until Edward awoke in earnest.
The illusion, however, did not seem entirely dispelled. The apartment
was in the fortress of lan nan Chaistel, but it was still the voice of
Davie Gellatley that made the following lines resound under the
window:-My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the
Highlands a-chasing the deer; A-chasing the wild deer, and following
the roe, My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
[Footnote: These lines form the burden of an old song to which Burns
wrote additional verses.]
Curious to know what could have determined Mr. Gellatley on an
excursion of such unwonted extent, Edward began to dress himself in
all haste, during which operation the minstrelsy of Davie changed its
tune more than once:-There's nought in the Highlands but syboes and leeks, And lang-leggit
callants gaun wanting the breeks, Wanting the breeks, and without hose
and shoon, But we'll a'win the breeks when King Jamie comes hame.
[Footnote: These lines are also ancient, and I believe to the tune of
'We'll never hae peace till Jamie comes hame,' to which Burns likewise
wrote some verses.]
By the time Waverley was dressed and had issued forth, David had
associated himself with two or three of the numerous Highland
loungers who always graced the gates of the castle with their presence,
and was capering and dancing full merrily in the doubles and full career
of a Scotch foursome reel, to the music of his own whistling. In this
double capacity of dancer and musician he continued, until an idle
piper, who observed his zeal, obeyed the unanimous call of seid suas
(i.e. blow up), and relieved him from the latter part of his trouble.
Young and old then mingled in the dance as they could find partners.
The appearance of Waverley did not interrupt David's exercise, though
he contrived, by grinning, nodding, and throwing one or two
inclinations of the body into the graces with which he performed the
Highland fling, to convey to our hero symptoms of recognition. Then,
while busily employed in setting, whooping all the while, and snapping
his fingers over his head, he of a sudden prolonged his side-step until it
brought him to the place where Edward was standing, and, still keeping
time to the music like Harlequin in a pantomime, he thrust a letter into
our hero's hand, and continued his saltation without pause or
intermission. Edward, who perceived that the address was in Rose's
hand-writing, retired to peruse it, leaving the faithful bearer to continue
his exercise until the piper or he should be tired out.
The contents of the letter greatly surprised him. It had originally
commenced with 'Dear Sir'; but these words had been carefully erased,
and the monosyllable 'Sir' substituted in their place. The rest of the
contents shall be given in Rose's own language.
I fear I am using an improper freedom by intruding upon you, yet I
cannot trust to any one else to let you know some things which have
happened here, with which it seems necessary you should be
acquainted. Forgive me, if I am wrong in what I am doing; for, alas! Mr.
Waverley, I have no better advice than that of my own feelings; my
dear father is gone from this place, and when he can return to my
assistance and protection, God alone knows. You have probably heard
that, in consequence of some troublesome news from the Highlands,
warrants were sent out for apprehending several gentlemen in these
parts, and, among others, my dear father. In spite of all my tears and
entreaties that he would surrender himself to the government, he joined
with Mr. Falconer and some other gentlemen, and they have all gone
northwards, with a body of about forty horsemen. So I am not so
anxious concerning his immediate safety as about what may follow
afterwards, for these troubles are only beginning. But all this is nothing
to you, Mr. Waverley, only I thought you would be glad to learn that
my father has escaped, in case you happen to have heard that he was in
danger.
The day after my father went off there came a party of soldiers to
Tully-Veolan, and behaved very rudely to Bailie Macwheeble; but the
officer was very civil to me, only said his duty obliged him to search
for arms and papers. My father had provided against this by taking
away all the arms except the old useless things which hung in the hall,
and he had put all his papers out of the way. But O! Mr. Waverley, how
shall I tell you, that they made strict inquiry after you, and asked when
you had been at Tully-Veolan, and where you now were. The officer is
gone back with his party, but a non-commissioned officer and four men
remain as a sort of garrison in the house. They have hitherto behaved
very well, as we are forced to keep them in good-humour. But these
soldiers have hinted as if, on your falling into their hands, you would
be in great danger; I cannot prevail on myself to write what wicked
falsehoods they said, for I am sure they are falsehoods; but you will
best judge what you ought to do. The party that returned carried off
your servant prisoner, with your two horses, and everything that you
left at Tully-Veolan. I hope God will protect you, and that you will get
safe home to England, where you used to tell me there was no military
violence nor fighting among clans permitted, but everything was done
according to an equal law that protected all who were harmless and
innocent. I hope you will exert your indulgence as to my boldness in
writing to you, where it seems to me, though perhaps erroneously, that
your safety and honour are concerned. I am sure--at least I think, my
father would approve of my writing; for Mr. Rubrick is fled to his
cousin's at the Duchran, to to be out of danger from the soldiers and the
Whigs, and Bailie Macwheeble does not like to meddle (he says) in
other men's concerns, though I hope what may serve my father's friend
at such a time as this cannot be termed improper interference. Farewell,
Captain Waverley! I shall probably never see you more; for it would be
very improper to wish you to call at Tully-Veolan just now, even if
these men were gone; but I will always remember with gratitude your
kindness in assisting so poor a scholar as myself, and your attentions to
my dear, dear father.
I remain, your obliged servant,
ROSE COMYNE BRADWARDINE.
P.S.--I hope you will send me a line by David Gellatley, just to say you
have received this and that you will take care of yourself; and forgive
me if I entreat you, for your own sake, to join none of these unhappy
cabals, but escape, as fast as possible, to your own fortunate country.
My compliments to my dear Flora and to Glennaquoich. Is she not as
handsome and accomplished as I have described her?
Thus concluded the letter of Rose Bradwardine, the contents of which
both surprised and affected Waverley. That the Baron should fall under
the suspicions of government, in consequence of the present stir among
the partisans of the house of Stuart, seemed only the natural
consequence of his political predilections; but how HE himself should
have been involved in such suspicions, conscious that until yesterday
he had been free from harbouring a thought against the prosperity of
the reigning family, seemed inexplicable. Both at Tully-Veolan and
Glennaquoich his hosts had respected his engagements with the
existing government, and though enough passed by accidental
innuendo that might induce him to reckon the Baron and the Chief
among those disaffected gentlemen who were still numerous in
Scotland, yet until his own connection with the army had been broken
off by the resumption of his commission, he had no reason to suppose
that they nourished any immediate or hostile attempts against the
present establishment. Still he was aware that, unless he meant at once
to embrace the proposal of Fergus Mac-Ivor, it would deeply concern
him to leave the suspicious neighbourhood without delay, and repair
where his conduct might undergo a satisfactory examination. Upon this
he the rather determined, as Flora's advice favoured his doing so, and
because he felt inexpressible repugnance at the idea of being accessary
to the plague of civil war. Whatever were the original rights of the
Stuarts, calm reflection told him that, omitting the question how far
James the Second could forfeit those of his posterity, he had, according
to the united voice of the whole nation, justly forfeited his own. Since
that period four monarchs had reigned in peace and glory over Britain,
sustaining and exalting the character of the nation abroad and its
liberties at home. Reason asked, was it worth while to disturb a
government so long settled and established, and to plunge a kingdom
into all the miseries of civil war, for the purpose of replacing upon the
throne the descendants of a monarch by whom it had been wilfully
forfeited? If, on the other hand, his own final conviction of the
goodness of their cause, or the commands of his father or uncle, should
recommend to him allegiance to the Stuarts, still it was necessary to
clear his own character by showing that he had not, as seemed to be
falsely insinuated, taken any step to this purpose during his holding the
commission of the reigning monarch,
The affectionate simplicity of Rose and her anxiety for his safety, his
sense too of her unprotected state, and of the terror and actual dangers
to which she might be exposed, made an impression upon his mind, and
he instantly wrote to thank her in the kindest terms for her solicitude on
his account, to express his earnest good wishes for her welfare and that
of her father, and to assure her of his own safety. The feelings which
this task excited were speedily lost in the necessity which he now saw
of bidding farewell to Flora Mac-Ivor, perhaps for ever. The pang
attending this reflection was inexpressible; for her high-minded
elevation of character, her self-devotion to the cause which she had
embraced, united to her scrupulous rectitude as to the means of serving
it, had vindicated to his judgment the choice adopted by his passions.
But time pressed, calumny was busy with his fame, and every hour's
delay increased the power to injure it. His departure must be instant.
With this determination he sought out Fergus, and communicated to
him the contents of Rose's letter, with his own resolution instantly to go
to Edinburgh, and put into the hands of some one or other of those
persons of influence to whom he had letters from his father his
exculpation from any charge which might be preferred against him.
'You run your head into the lion's mouth,' answered Mac-Ivor. 'You do
not know the severity of a government harassed by just apprehensions,
and a consciousness of their own illegality and insecurity. I shall have
to deliver you from some dungeon in Stirling or Edinburgh Castle.'
'My innocence, my rank, my father's intimacy with Lord M--, General
G--, etc., will be a sufficient protection,' said Waverley.
'You will find the contrary,' replied the Chieftain, 'these gentlemen will
have enough to do about their own matters. Once more, will you take
the plaid, and stay a little while with us among the mists and the crows,
in the bravest cause ever sword was drawn in?'
[Footnote: A Highland rhyme on Glencairn's Expedition, in 1650, has
these lines-We'll bide a while amang ta crows, We'll wiske ta sword and bend ta
bows]
'For many reasons, my dear Fergus, you must hold me excused.'
'Well then,' said Mac-Ivor, 'I shall certainly find you exerting your
poetical talents in elegies upon a prison, or your antiquarian researches
in detecting the Oggam [Footnote: The Oggam is a species of the old
Irish character. The idea of the correspondence betwixt the Celtic and
Punic, founded on a scene in Plautus, was not started till General
Vallancey set up his theory, long after the date of Fergus Mac-Ivor]
character or some Punic hieroglyphic upon the keystones of a vault,
curiously arched. Or what say you to un petit pendement bien joli?
against which awkward ceremony I don't warrant you, should you meet
a body of the armed West-Country Whigs.'
'And why should they use me so?' said Waverley.
'For a hundred good reasons,' answered Fergus. 'First, you are an
Englishman; secondly, a gentleman; thirdly, a prelatist abjured; and,
fourthly, they have not had an opportunity to exercise their talents on
such a subject this long while. But don't be cast down, beloved; all will
be done in the fear of the Lord.'
'Well, I must run my hazard.'
'You are determined, then?'
'I am.'
'Wilful will do't' said Fergus. 'But you cannot go on foot, and I shall
want no horse, as I must march on foot at the head of the children of
Ivor; you shall have brown Dermid.'
'If you will sell him, I shall certainly be much obliged.'
'If your proud English heart cannot be obliged by a gift or loan, I will
not refuse money at the entrance of a campaign: his price is twenty
guineas. [Remember, reader, it was Sixty Years Since.] And when do
you propose to depart?'
'The sooner the better,' answered Waverley.
'You are right, since go you must, or rather, since go you will. I will
take Flora's pony and ride with you as far as Bally-Brough. Callum Beg,
see that our horses are ready, with a pony for yourself, to attend and
carry Mr. Waverley's baggage as far as--(naming a small town), where
he can have a horse and guide to Edinburgh. Put on a Lowland dress,
Callum, and see you keep your tongue close, if you would not have me
cut it out. Mr. Waverley rides Dermid.' Then turning to Edward, 'You
will take leave of my sister?'
'Surely--that is, if Miss Mac-Ivor will honour me so far.'
'Cathleen, let my sister know Mr. Waverley wishes to bid her farewell
before he leaves us. But Rose Bradwardine, her situation must be
thought of; I wish she were here. And why should she not? There are
but four red-coats at Tully-Veolan, and their muskets would be very
useful to us.'
To these broken remarks Edward made no answer; his ear indeed
received them, but his soul was intent upon the expected entrance of
Flora. The door opened. It was but Cathleen, with her lady's excuse,
and wishes for Captain Waverley's health and happiness.
CHAPTER XXIX
WAVERLEY'S RECEPTION IN THE LOWLANDS AFTER HIS
HIGHLAND TOUR
It was noon when the two friends stood at the top of the pass of
Bally-Brough. 'I must go no farther,' said Fergus Mac-Ivor, who during
the journey had in vain endeavoured to raise his friend's spirits. 'If my
cross-grained sister has any share in your dejection, trust me she thinks
highly of you, though her present anxiety about the public cause
prevents her listening to any other subject. Confide your interest to me;
I will not betray it, providing you do not again assume that vile
cockade.'
'No fear of that, considering the manner in which it has been recalled.
Adieu, Fergus; do not permit your sister to forget me.'
'And adieu, Waverley; you may soon hear of her with a prouder title.
Get home, write letters, and make friends as many and as fast as you
can; there will speedily be unexpected guests on the coast of Suffolk, or
my news from France has deceived me.' [Footnote: The sanguine
Jacobites, during the eventful years 1745-46, kept up the spirits of their
party by the rumour of descents from France on behalf of the Chevalier
St. George.]
Thus parted the friends; Fergus returning back to his castle, while
Edward, followed by Callum Beg, the latter transformed from point to
point into a Low-Country groom, proceeded to the little town of--.
Edward paced on under the painful and yet not altogether embittered
feelings which separation and uncertainty produce in the mind of a
youthful lover. I am not sure if the ladies understand the full value of
the influence of absence, nor do I think it wise to teach it them, lest,
like the Clelias and Mandanes of yore, they should resume the humour
of sending their lovers into banishment. Distance, in truth, produces in
idea the same effect as in real perspective. Objects are softened, and
rounded, and rendered doubly graceful; the harsher and more ordinary
points of character are mellowed down, and those by which it is
remembered are the more striking outlines that mark sublimity, grace,
or beauty. There are mists too in the mental as well as the natural
horizon, to conceal what is less pleasing in distant objects, and there are
happy lights, to stream in full glory upon those points which can profit
by brilliant illumination.
Waverley forgot Flora Mac-Ivor's prejudices in her magnanimity, and
almost pardoned her indifference towards his affection when he
recollected the grand and decisive object which seemed to fill her
whole soul. She, whose sense of duty so wholly engrossed her in the
cause of a benefactor, what would be her feelings in favour of the
happy individual who should be so fortunate as to awaken them? Then
came the doubtful question, whether he might not be that happy
man,--a question which fancy endeavoured to answer in the affirmative,
by conjuring up all she had said in his praise, with the addition of a
comment much more flattering than the text warranted. All that was
commonplace, all that belonged to the every-day world, was melted
away and obliterated in those dreams of imagination, which only
remembered with advantage the points of grace and dignity that
distinguished Flora from the generality of her sex, not the particulars
which she held in common with them. Edward was, in short, in the fair
way of creating a goddess out of a high-spirited, accomplished, and
beautiful young woman; and the time was wasted in castle-building
until, at the descent of a steep hill, he saw beneath him the market-town
of ----.
The Highland politeness of Callum Beg--there are few nations, by the
way, who can boast of so much natural politeness as the Highlanders
[Footnote: The Highlander, in former times, had always a high idea of
his own gentility, and was anxious to impress the same upon those with
whom he conversed. His language abounded in the phrases of courtesy
and compliment; and the habit of carrying arms, and mixing with those
who did so, made it particularly desirable they should use cautious
politeness in their intercourse with each other.]--the Highland civility
of his attendant had not permitted him to disturb the reveries of our
hero. But observing him rouse himself at the sight of the village,
Callum pressed closer to his side, and hoped 'when they cam to the
public, his honour wad not say nothing about Vich Ian Vohr, for ta
people were bitter Whigs, deil burst tem.'
Waverley assured the prudent page that he would be cautious; and as he
now distinguished, not indeed the ringing of bells, but the tinkling of
something like a hammer against the side of an old mossy, green,
inverted porridge-pot that hung in an open booth, of the size and shape
of a parrot's cage, erected to grace the east end of a building resembling
an old barn, he asked Callum Beg if it were Sunday.
'Could na say just preceesely; Sunday seldom cam aboon the pass of
Bally-Brough.'
On entering the town, however, and advancing towards the most
apparent public-house which presented itself, the numbers of old
women, in tartan screens and red cloaks, who streamed from the
barn-resembling building, debating as they went the comparative merits
of the blessed youth Jabesh Rentowel and that chosen vessel Maister
Goukthrapple, induced Callum to assure his temporary master 'that it
was either ta muckle Sunday hersell, or ta little government Sunday
that they ca'd ta fast.'
On alighting at the sign of the Seven-branched Golden Candlestick,
which, for the further delectation of the guests, was graced with a short
Hebrew motto, they were received by mine host, a tall thin puritanical
figure, who seemed to debate with himself whether he ought to give
shelter to those who travelled on such a day. Reflecting, however, in all
probability, that he possessed the power of mulcting them for this
irregularity, a penalty which they might escape by passing into Gregor
Duncanson's, at the sign of the Highlander and the Hawick Gill, Mr.
Ebenezer Cruickshanks condescended to admit them into his dwelling.
To this sanctified person Waverley addressed his request that he would
procure him a guide, with a saddle-horse, to carry his portmanteau to
Edinburgh.
'And whar may ye be coming from?' demanded mine host of the
Candlestick.
'I have told you where I wish to go; I do not conceive any further
information necessary either for the guide or his saddle-horse.'
'Hem! Ahem!' returned he of the Candlestick, somewhat disconcerted at
this rebuff. 'It's the general fast, sir, and I cannot enter into ony carnal
transactions on sic a day, when the people should be humbled and the
backsliders should return, as worthy Mr. Goukthrapple said; and
moreover when, as the precious Mr. Jabesh Rentowel did weel observe,
the land was mourning for covenants burnt, broken, and buried.'
'My good friend,' said Waverley, 'if you cannot let me have a horse and
guide, my servant shall seek them elsewhere.'
'Aweel! Your servant? and what for gangs he not forward wi' you
himsell?'
Waverley had but very little of a captain of horse's spirit within him--I
mean of that sort of spirit which I have been obliged to when I
happened, in a mail coach or diligence, to meet some military man who
has kindly taken upon him the disciplining of the waiters and the taxing
of reckonings. Some of this useful talent our hero had, however,
acquired during his military service, and on this gross provocation it
began seriously to arise. 'Look ye, sir; I came here for my own
accommodation, and not to answer impertinent questions. Either say
you can, or cannot, get me what I want; I shall pursue my course in
either case.'
Mr. Ebenezer Cruickshanks left the room with some indistinct
mutterings; but whether negative or acquiescent, Edward could not well
distinguish. The hostess, a civil, quiet, laborious drudge, came to take
his orders for dinner, but declined to make answer on the subject of the
horse and guide; for the Salique law, it seems, extended to the stables
of the Golden Candlestick.
From a window which overlooked the dark and narrow court in which
Callum Beg rubbed down the horses after their journey, Waverley
heard the following dialogue betwixt the subtle foot-page of Vich Ian
Vohr and his landlord:-'Ye'll be frae the north, young man?' began the latter.
'And ye may say that,' answered Callum.
'And ye'll hae ridden a lang way the day, it may weel be?'
'Sae lang, that I could weel tak a dram.'
'Gudewife, bring the gill stoup.'
Here some compliments passed fitting the occasion, when my host of
the Golden Candlestick, having, as he thought, opened his guest's heart
by this hospitable propitiation, resumed his scrutiny.
'Ye'll no hae mickle better whisky than that aboon the Pass?'
'I am nae frae aboon the Pass.'
'Ye're a Highlandman by your tongue?'
'Na; I am but just Aberdeen-a-way.'
'And did your master come frae Aberdeen wi' you?'
'Ay; that's when I left it mysell,' answered the cool and impenetrable
Callum Beg.
'And what kind of a gentleman is he?'
'I believe he is ane o' King George's state officers; at least he's aye for
ganging on to the south, and he has a hantle siller, and never grudges
onything till a poor body, or in the way of a lawing.'
'He wants a guide and a horse frae hence to Edinburgh?'
'Ay, and ye maun find it him forthwith.'
'Ahem! It will be chargeable.'
'He cares na for that a bodle.'
'Aweel, Duncan--did ye say your name was Duncan, or Donald?'
'Na, man--Jamie--Jamie Steenson--I telt ye before.'
This last undaunted parry altogether foiled Mr. Cruickshanks, who,
though not quite satisfied either with the reserve of the master or the
extreme readiness of the man, was contented to lay a tax on the
reckoning and horse-hire that might compound for his ungratified
curiosity. The circumstance of its being the fast day was not forgotten
in the charge, which, on the whole, did not, however, amount to much
more than double what in fairness it should have been.
Callum Beg soon after announced in person the ratification of this
treaty, adding, 'Ta auld deevil was ganging to ride wi' ta duinhe-wassel
hersell.'
'That will not be very pleasant, Callum, nor altogether safe, for our host
seems a person of great curiosity; but a traveller must submit to these
inconveniences. Meanwhile, my good lad, here is a trifle for you to
drink Vich Ian Vohr's health.'
The hawk's eye of Callum flashed delight upon a golden guinea, with
which these last words were accompanied. He hastened, not without a
curse on the intricacies of a Saxon breeches pocket, or spleuchan, as he
called it, to deposit the treasure in his fob; and then, as if he conceived
the benevolence called for some requital on his part, he gathered close
up to Edward, with an expression of countenance peculiarly knowing,
and spoke in an undertone, 'If his honour thought ta auld deevil Whig
carle was a bit dangerous, she could easily provide for him, and teil ane
ta wiser.'
'How, and in what manner?'
'Her ain sell,' replied Callum, 'could wait for him a wee bit frae the toun,
and kittle his quarters wi'her skene-occle.'
'Skene-occle! what's that?'
Callum unbuttoned his coat, raised his left arm, and, with an emphatic
nod, pointed to the hilt of a small dirk, snugly deposited under it, in the
lining of his jacket. Waverley thought he had misunderstood his
meaning; he gazed in his face, and discovered in Callum's very
handsome though embrowned features just the degree of roguish malice
with which a lad of the same age in England would have brought
forward a plan for robbing an orchard.
'Good God, Callum, would you take the man's life?'
'Indeed,' answered the young desperado, 'and I think he has had just a
lang enough lease o 't, when he's for betraying honest folk that come to
spend siller at his public.'
Edward saw nothing was to be gained by argument, and therefore
contented himself with enjoining Callum to lay aside all practices
against the person of Mr. Ebenezer Cruickshanks; in which injunction
the page seemed to acquiesce with an air of great indifference.
'Ta duinhe-wassel might please himsell; ta auld rudas loon had never
done Callum nae ill. But here's a bit line frae ta Tighearna, tat he bade
me gie your honour ere I came back.'
The letter from the Chief contained Flora's lines on the fate of Captain
Wogan, whose enterprising character is so well drawn by Clarendon.
He had originally engaged in the service of the Parliament, but had
abjured that party upon the execution of Charles I; and upon hearing
that the royal standard was set up by the Earl of Glencairn and General
Middleton in the Highlands of Scotland, took leave of Charles II, who
was then at Paris, passed into England, assembled a body of Cavaliers
in the neighbourhood of London, and traversed the kingdom, which had
been so long under domination of the usurper, by marches conducted
with such skill, dexterity, and spirit that he safely united his handful of
horsemen with the body of Highlanders then in arms. After several
months of desultory warfare, in which Wogan's skill and courage
gained him the highest reputation, he had the misfortune to be wounded
in a dangerous manner, and no surgical assistance being within reach
he terminated his short but glorious career.
There were obvious reasons why the politic Chieftain was desirous to
place the example of this young hero under the eye of Waverley, with
whose romantic disposition it coincided so peculiarly. But his letter
turned chiefly upon some trifling commissions which Waverley had
promised to execute for him in England, and it was only toward the
conclusion that Edward found these words: 'I owe Flora a grudge for
refusing us her company yesterday; and, as I am giving you the trouble
of reading these lines, in order to keep in your memory your promise to
procure me the fishing-tackle and cross-bow from London, I will
enclose her verses on the Grave of Wogan. This I know will tease her;
for, to tell you the truth, I think her more in love with the memory of
that dead hero than she is likely to be with any living one, unless he
shall tread a similar path. But English squires of our day keep their
oak-trees to shelter their deer parks, or repair the losses of an evening at
White's, and neither invoke them to wreathe their brows nor shelter
their graves. Let me hope for one brilliant exception in a dear friend, to
whom I would most gladly give a dearer title.'
The verses were inscribed,
To an Oak Tree
In the Church-Yard of ----, in the Highlands of Scotland, said to mark
the Grave of Captain Wogan, killed in 1649.
Emblem of England's ancient faith, Full proudly may thy branches
wave, Where loyalty lies low in death, And valour fills a timeless
grave.
And thou, brave tenant of the tomb! Repine not if our clime deny,
Above thine honour'd sod to bloom The flowerets of a milder sky.
These owe their birth to genial May; Beneath a fiercer sun they pine,
Before the winter storm decay; And can their worth be type of thine?
No! for, 'mid storms of Fate opposing, Still higher swell'd thy dauntless
heart, And, while Despair the scene was closing, Commenced thy brief
but brilliant part.
'T was then thou sought'st on Albyn's hill, (When England's sons the
strife resign'd) A rugged race resisting still, And unsubdued though
unrefined.
Thy death's hour heard no kindred wail, No holy knell thy requiem
rung; Thy mourners were the plaided Gael, Thy dirge the clamourous
pibroch sung.
Yet who, in Fortune's summer-shine To waste life's longest term away,
Would change that glorious dawn of thine, Though darken'd ere its
noontide day!
Be thine the tree whose dauntless boughs Brave summer's drought and
winter's gloom. Rome bound with oak her patriots' brows, As Albyn
shadows Wogan's tomb.
Whatever might be the real merit of Flora Mac-Ivor's poetry, the
enthusiasm which it intimated was well calculated to make a
corresponding impression upon her lover. The lines were read--read
again, then deposited in Waverley's bosom, then again drawn out, and
read line by line, in a low and smothered voice, and with frequent
pauses which prolonged the mental treat, as an epicure protracts, by
sipping slowly, the enjoyment of a delicious beverage. The entrance of
Mrs. Cruickshanks with the sublunary articles of dinner and wine
hardly interrupted this pantomime of affectionate enthusiasm.
At length the tall ungainly figure and ungracious visage of Ebenezer
presented themselves. The upper part of his form, notwithstanding the
season required no such defence, was shrouded in a large great-coat,
belted over his under habiliments, and crested with a huge cowl of the
same stuff, which, when drawn over the head and hat, completely
overshadowed both, and, being buttoned beneath the chin, was called a
trot-cozy. His hand grasped a huge jockey-whip, garnished with
brassmounting. His thin legs tenanted a pair of gambadoes, fastened at
the sides with rusty clasps. Thus accoutred, he stalked into the midst of
the apartment, and announced his errand in brief phrase: 'Yer horses are
ready.'
'You go with me yourself then, landlord?'
'I do, as far as Perth; where ye may be supplied with a guide to Embro',
as your occasions shall require.'
Thus saying, he placed under Waverley's eye the bill which he held in
his hand; and at the same time, self-invited, filled a glass of wine and
drank devoutly to a blessing on their journey. Waverley stared at the
man's impudence, but, as their connection was to be short and promised
to be convenient, he made no observation upon it; and, having paid his
reckoning, expressed his intention to depart immediately. He mounted
Dermid accordingly and sallied forth from the Golden Candlestick,
followed by the puritanical figure we have described, after he had, at
the expense of some time and difficulty, and by the assistance of a
'louping-on-stane,' or structure of masonry erected for the traveller's
convenience in front of the house, elevated his person to the back of a
long-backed, raw-boned, thin-gutted phantom of a broken-down
blood-horse, on which Waverley's portmanteau was deposited. Our
hero, though not in a very gay humour, could hardly help laughing at
the appearance of his new squire, and at imagining the astonishment
which his person and equipage would have excited at
Waverley-Honour.
Edward's tendency to mirth did not escape mine host of the Candlestick,
who, conscious of the cause, infused a double portion of souring into
the pharisaical leaven of his countenance, and resolved internally that,
in one way or other, the young 'Englisher' should pay dearly for the
contempt with which he seemed to regard him. Callum also stood at the
gate and enjoyed, with undissembled glee, the ridiculous figure of Mr.
Cruickshanks. As Waverley passed him he pulled off his hat
respectfully, and, approaching his stirrup, bade him 'Tak heed the auld
whig deevil played him nae cantrip.'
Waverley once more thanked and bade him farewell, and then rode
briskly onward, not sorry to be out of hearing of the shouts of the
children, as they beheld old Ebenezer rise and sink in his stirrups to
avoid the concussions occasioned by a hard trot upon a half-paved
street. The village of--was soon several miles behind him.
WAVERLEY
OR
'TIS SIXTY YEARS SINCE
VOLUME II.
CHAPTER I
SHOWS THAT THE LOSS OF A HORSE'S SHOE MAY BE A
SERIOUS INCONVENIENCE
The manner and air of Waverley, but, above all, the glittering contents
of his purse, and the indifference with which he seemed to regard them,
somewhat overawed his companion, and deterred him from making any
attempts to enter upon conversation. His own reflections were
moreover agitated by various surmises, and by plans of self-interest
with which these were intimately connected. The travellers journeyed,
therefore, in silence, until it was interrupted by the annunciation, on the
part of the guide, that his 'naig had lost a fore-foot shoe, which,
doubtless, his honour would consider it was his part to replace.'
This was what lawyers call a fishing question, calculated to ascertain
how far Waverley was disposed to submit to petty imposition. 'My part
to replace your horse's shoe, you rascal!' said Waverley, mistaking the
purport of the intimation.
'Indubitably,' answered Mr. Cruickshanks; 'though there was no
preceese clause to that effect, it canna be expected that I am to pay for
the casualties whilk may befall the puir naig while in your honour's
service. Nathless, if your honour--'
'O, you mean I am to pay the farrier; but where shall we find one?'
Rejoiced at discerning there would be no objection made on the part of
his temporary master, Mr. Cruickshanks assured him that Cairnvreckan,
a village which they were about to enter, was happy in an excellent
blacksmith; 'but as he was a professor, he would drive a nail for no man
on the Sabbath or kirk-fast, unless it were in a case of absolute
necessity, for which he always charged sixpence each shoe.' The most
important part of this communication, in the opinion of the speaker,
made a very slight impression on the hearer, who only internally
wondered what college this veterinary professor belonged to, not aware
that the word was used to denote any person who pretended to
uncommon sanctity of faith and manner.
As they entered the village of Cairnvreckan, they speedily
distinguished the smith's house. Being also a public, it was two stories
high, and proudly reared its crest, covered with grey slate, above the
thatched hovels by which it was surrounded. The adjoining smithy
betokened none of the Sabbatical silence and repose which Ebenezer
had augured from the sanctity of his friend. On the contrary, hammer
clashed and anvil rang, the bellows groaned, and the whole apparatus of
Vulcan appeared to be in full activity. Nor was the labour of a rural and
pacific nature. The master smith, benempt, as his sign intimated, John
Mucklewrath, with two assistants, toiled busily in arranging, repairing,
and furbishing old muskets, pistols, and swords, which lay scattered
around his workshop in military confusion. The open shed, containing
the forge, was crowded with persons who came and went as if receiving
and communicating important news, and a single glance at the aspect of
the people who traversed the street in haste, or stood assembled in
groups, with eyes elevated and hands uplifted, announced that some
extraordinary intelligence was agitating the public mind of the
municipality of Cairnvreckan. 'There is some news,' said mine host of
the Candlestick, pushing his lantern-jawed visage and bare-boned nag
rudely forward into the crowd--'there is some news; and, if it please my
Creator, I will forthwith obtain speirings thereof.'
Waverley, with better regulated curiosity than his attendant's,
dismounted and gave his horse to a boy who stood idling near. It arose,
perhaps, from the shyness of his character in early youth, that he felt
dislike at applying to a stranger even for casual information, without
previously glancing at his physiognomy and appearance. While he
looked about in order to select the person with whom he would most
willingly hold communication, the buzz around saved him in some
degree the trouble of interrogatories. The names of Lochiel, Clanronald,
Glengarry, and other distinguished Highland Chiefs, among whom
Vich Ian Vohr was repeatedly mentioned, were as familiar in men's
mouths as household words; and from the alarm generally expressed,
he easily conceived that their descent into the Lowlands, at the head of
their armed tribes, had either already taken place or was instantly
apprehended.
Ere Waverley could ask particulars, a strong, large-boned,
hard-featured woman, about forty, dressed as if her clothes had been
flung on with a pitchfork, her cheeks flushed with a scarlet red where
they were not smutted with soot and lamp-black, jostled through the
crowd, and, brandishing high a child of two years old, which she
danced in her arms without regard to its screams of terror, sang forth
with all her might,-Charlie is my darling, my darling, my darling, Charlie is my darling,
The young Chevalier!
'D' ye hear what's come ower ye now,' continued the virago, 'ye
whingeing Whig carles? D'ye hear wha's coming to cow yer cracks?
Little wot ye wha's coming, Little wot ye wha's coming, A' the wild
Macraws are coming.' The Vulcan of Cairnvreckan, who acknowledged
his Venus in this exulting Bacchante, regarded her with a grim and
ire-foreboding countenance, while some of the senators of the village
hastened to interpose. 'Whisht, gudewife; is this a time or is this a day
to be singing your ranting fule sangs in?--a time when the wine of
wrath is poured out without mixture in the cup of indignation, and a
day when the land should give testimony against popery, and prelacy,
and quakerism, and independency, and supremacy, and erastianism,
and antinomianism, and a' the errors of the church?'
'And that's a' your Whiggery,' reechoed the Jacobite heroine; 'that's a'
your Whiggery, and your presbytery, ye cut-lugged, graning carles!
What! d' ye think the lads wi' the kilts will care for yer synods and yer
presbyteries, and yer buttock-mail, and yer stool o' repentance?
Vengeance on the black face o't! mony an honester woman's been set
upon it than streeks doon beside ony Whig in the country. I mysell--'
Here John Mucklewrath, who dreaded her entering upon a detail of
personal experience, interposed his matrimonial authority. 'Gae hame,
and be d--(that I should say sae), and put on the sowens for supper.'
'And you, ye doil'd dotard,' replied his gentle helpmate, her wrath,
which had hitherto wandered abroad over the whole assembly, being at
once and violently impelled into its natural channel, 'YE stand there
hammering dog-heads for fules that will never snap them at a
Highlandman, instead of earning bread for your family and shoeing this
winsome young gentleman's horse that's just come frae the north! I'se
warrant him nane of your whingeing King George folk, but a gallant
Gordon, at the least o' him.'
The eyes of the assembly were now turned upon Waverley, who took
the opportunity to beg the smith to shoe his guide's horse with all speed,
as he wished to proceed on his journey; for he had heard enough to
make him sensible that there would be danger in delaying long in this
place. The smith's eyes rested on him with a look of displeasure and
suspicion, not lessened by the eagerness with which his wife enforced
Waverley's mandate. 'D'ye hear what the weel-favoured young
gentleman says, ye drunken ne'er-do-good?'
'And what may your name be, sir?' quoth Mucklewrath.
'It is of no consequence to you, my friend, provided I pay your labour.'
'But it may be of consequence to the state, sir,' replied an old farmer,
smelling strongly of whisky and peat-smoke; 'and I doubt we maun
delay your journey till you have seen the Laird.'
'You certainly,' said Waverley, haughtily, 'will find it both difficult and
dangerous to detain me, unless you can produce some proper authority.'
There was a pause and a whisper among the crowd--'Secretary
Murray'--'Lord Lewis Gordon'--'Maybe the Chevalier himsell!' Such
were the surmises that passed hurriedly among them, and there was
obviously an increased disposition to resist Waverley's departure. He
attempted to argue mildly with them, but his voluntary ally, Mrs.
Mucklewrath, broke in upon and drowned his expostulations, taking his
part with an abusive violence which was all set down to Edward's
account by those on whom it was bestowed. 'YE'LL stop ony
gentleman that's the Prince's freend?' for she too, though with other
feelings, had adopted the general opinion respecting Waverley. 'I daur
ye to touch him,' spreading abroad her long and muscular fingers,
garnished with claws which a vulture might have envied. 'I'll set my ten
commandments in the face o' the first loon that lays a finger on him.'
'Gae hame, gudewife,' quoth the farmer aforesaid; 'it wad better set you
to be nursing the gudeman's bairns than to be deaving us here.'
'HIS bairns?' retorted the Amazon, regarding her husband with a grin of
ineffable contempt--'HIS bairns!
O gin ye were dead, gudeman, And a green turf on your head, gudeman!
Then I wad ware my widowhood Upon a ranting Highlandman'
This canticle, which excited a suppressed titter among the younger part
of the audience, totally overcame the patience of the taunted man of the
anvil. 'Deil be in me but I'll put this het gad down her throat!' cried he
in an ecstasy of wrath, snatching a bar from the forge; and he might
have executed his threat, had he not been withheld by a part of the mob,
while the rest endeavoured to force the termagant out of his presence.
Waverley meditated a retreat in the confusion, but his horse was
nowhere to be seen. At length he observed at some distance his faithful
attendant, Ebenezer, who, as soon as he had perceived the turn matters
were likely to take, had withdrawn both horses from the press, and,
mounted on the one and holding the other, answered the loud and
repeated calls of Waverley for his horse. 'Na, na! if ye are nae friend to
kirk and the king, and are detained as siccan a person, ye maun answer
to honest men of the country for breach of contract; and I maun keep
the naig and the walise for damage and expense, in respect my horse
and mysell will lose to-morrow's day's wark, besides the afternoon
preaching.'
Edward, out of patience, hemmed in and hustled by the rabble on every
side, and every moment expecting personal violence, resolved to try
measures of intimidation, and at length drew a pocket-pistol,
threatening, on the one hand, to shoot whomsoever dared to stop him,
and, on the other, menacing Ebenezer with a similar doom if he stirred
a foot with the horses. The sapient Partridge says that one man with a
pistol is equal to a hundred unarmed, because, though he can shoot but
one of the multitude, yet no one knows but that he himself may be that
luckless individual. The levy en masse of Cairnvreckan would therefore
probably have given way, nor would Ebenezer, whose natural paleness
had waxed three shades more cadaverous, have ventured to dispute a
mandate so enforced, had not the Vulcan of the village, eager to
discharge upon some more worthy object the fury which his helpmate
had provoked, and not ill satisfied to find such an object in Waverley,
rushed at him with the red-hot bar of iron with such determination as
made the discharge of his pistol an act of self-defence. The unfortunate
man fell; and while Edward, thrilled with a natural horror at the
incident, neither had presence of mind to unsheathe his sword nor to
draw his remaining pistol, the populace threw themselves upon him,
disarmed him, and were about to use him with great violence, when the
appearance of a venerable clergyman, the pastor of the parish, put a
curb on their fury.
This worthy man (none of the Goukthrapples or Rentowels) maintained
his character with the common people, although he preached the
practical fruits of Christian faith as well as its abstract tenets, and was
respected by the higher orders, notwithstanding he declined soothing
their speculative errors by converting the pulpit of the gospel into a
school of heathen morality. Perhaps it is owing to this mixture of faith
and practice in his doctrine that, although his memory has formed a sort
of era in the annals of Cairnvreckan, so that the parishioners, to denote
what befell Sixty Years Since, still say it happened 'in good Mr.
Morton's time,' I have never been able to discover which he belonged to,
the evangelical or the moderate party in the kirk. Nor do I hold the
circumstance of much moment, since, in my own remembrance, the one
was headed by an Erskine, the other by a Robertson.
[Footnote: The Reverend John Erskine, D. D, an eminent Scottish
divine and a most excellent man, headed the Evangelical party in the
Church of Scotland at the time when the celebrated Doctor Robertson,
the historian, was the leader of the Moderate party. These two
distinguished persons were colleagues in the Old Grey Friars' Church,
Edinburgh; and, however much they differed in church politics,
preserved the most perfect harmony as private friends and as clergymen
serving the same cure]
Mr. Morton had been alarmed by the discharge of the pistol and the
increasing hubbub around the smithy. His first attention, after he had
directed the bystanders to detain Waverley, but to abstain from injuring
him, was turned to the body of Mucklewrath, over which his wife, in a
revulsion of feeling, was weeping, howling, and tearing her elf-locks in
a state little short of distraction. On raising up the smith, the first
discovery was that he was alive; and the next that he was likely to live
as long as if he had never heard the report of a pistol in his life. He had
made a narrow escape, however; the bullet had grazed his head and
stunned him for a moment or two, which trance terror and confusion of
spirit had prolonged somewhat longer. He now arose to demand
vengeance on the person of Waverley, and with difficulty acquiesced in
the proposal of Mr. Morton that he should be carried before the Laird,
as a justice of peace, and placed at his disposal. The rest of the
assistants unanimously agreed to the measure recommended; even Mrs.
Mucklewrath, who had begun to recover from her hysterics, whimpered
forth, 'She wadna say naething against what the minister proposed; he
was e'en ower gude for his trade, and she hoped to see him wi' a dainty
decent bishop's gown on his back; a comelier sight than your Geneva
cloaks and bands, I wis.'
All controversy being thus laid aside, Waverley, escorted by the whole
inhabitants of the village who were not bed-ridden, was conducted to
the house of Cairnvreckan, which was about half a mile distant.
CHAPTER II
AN EXAMINATION
Major Melville of Cairnvreckan, an elderly gentleman, who had spent
his youth in the military service, received Mr. Morton with great
kindness, and our hero with civility, which the equivocal circumstances
wherein Edward was placed rendered constrained and distant.
The nature of the smith's hurt was inquired into, and, as the actual
injury was likely to prove trifling, and the circumstances in which it
was received rendered the infliction on Edward's part a natural act of
self-defence, the Major conceived he might dismiss that matter on
Waverley's depositing in his hands a small sum for the benefit of the
wounded person.
'I could wish, sir,' continued the Major, 'that my duty terminated here;
but it is necessary that we should have some further inquiry into the
cause of your journey through the country at this unfortunate and
distracted time.'
Mr. Ebenezer Cruickshanks now stood forth, and communicated to the
magistrate all he knew or suspected from the reserve of Waverley and
the evasions of Callum Beg. The horse upon which Edward rode, he
said, he knew to belong to Vich Ian Vohr, though he dared not tax
Edward's former attendant with the fact, lest he should have his house
and stables burnt over his head some night by that godless gang, the
Mac-Ivors. He concluded by exaggerating his own services to kirk and
state, as having been the means, under God (as he modestly qualified
the assertion), of attaching this suspicious and formidable delinquent.
He intimated hopes of future reward, and of instant reimbursement for
loss of time, and even of character, by travelling on the state business
on the fast-day.
To this Major Melville answered, with great composure, that so far
from claiming any merit in this affair, Mr. Cruickshanks ought to
deprecate the imposition of a very heavy fine for neglecting to lodge, in
terms of the recent proclamation, an account with the nearest magistrate
of any stranger who came to his inn; that, as Mr. Cruickshanks boasted
so much of religion and loyalty, he should not impute this conduct to
disaffection, but only suppose that his zeal for kirk and state had been
lulled asleep by the opportunity of charging a stranger with double
horse-hire; that, however, feeling himself incompetent to decide singly
upon the conduct of a person of such importance, he should reserve it
for consideration of the next quarter-sessions. Now our history for the
present saith no more of him of the Candlestick, who wended dolorous
and malcontent back to his own dwelling.
Major Melville then commanded the villagers to return to their homes,
excepting two, who officiated as constables, and whom he directed to
wait below. The apartment was thus cleared of every person but Mr.
Morton, whom the Major invited to remain; a sort of factor, who acted
as clerk; and Waverley himself. There ensued a painful and
embarrassed pause, till Major Melville, looking upon Waverley with
much compassion, and often consulting a paper or memorandum which
he held in his hand, requested to know his name.
'Edward Waverley.'
'I thought so; late of the--dragoons, and nephew of Sir Everard
Waverley of Waverley-Honour?'
'The same.'
'Young gentleman, I am extremely sorry that this painful duty has
fallen to my lot.'
'Duty, Major Melville, renders apologies superfluous.'
'True, sir; permit me, therefore, to ask you how your time has been
disposed of since you obtained leave of absence from your regiment,
several weeks ago, until the present moment?'
'My reply,' said Waverley, 'to so general a question must be guided by
the nature of the charge which renders it necessary. I request to know
what that charge is, and upon what authority I am forcibly detained to
reply to it?'
'The charge, Mr. Waverley, I grieve to say, is of a very high nature, and
affects your character both as a soldier and a subject. In the former
capacity you are charged with spreading mutiny and rebellion among
the men you commanded, and setting them the example of desertion,
by prolonging your own absence from the regiment, contrary to the
express orders of your commanding officer. The civil crime of which
you stand accused is that of high treason and levying war against the
king, the highest delinquency of which a subject can be guilty.'
'And by what authority am I detained to reply to such heinous
calumnies?'
'By one which you must not dispute, nor I disobey.'
He handed to Waverley a warrant from the Supreme Criminal Court of
Scotland, in full form, for apprehending and securing the person of
Edward Waverley, Esq., suspected of treasonable practices and other
high crimes and misdemeanours.
The astonishment which Waverley expressed at this communication
was imputed by Major Melville to conscious guilt, while Mr. Morton
was rather disposed to construe it into the surprise of innocence
unjustly suspected. There was something true in both conjectures; for
although Edward's mind acquitted him of the crime with which he was
charged, yet a hasty review of his own conduct convinced him he might
have great difficulty in establishing his innocence to the satisfaction of
others.
'It is a very painful part of this painful business,' said Major Melville,
after a pause, 'that, under so grave a charge, I must necessarily request
to see such papers as you have on your person.'
'You shall, sir, without reserve,' said Edward, throwing his pocket-book
and memorandums upon the table; 'there is but one with which I could
wish you would dispense.'
'I am afraid, Mr. Waverley, I can indulge you with no reservation,'
'You shall see it then, sir; and as it can be of no service, I beg it may be
returned.'
He took from his bosom the lines he had that morning received, and
presented them with the envelope. The Major perused them in silence,
and directed his clerk to make a copy of them. He then wrapped the
copy in the envelope, and placing it on the table before him, returned
the original to Waverley, with an air of melancholy gravity.
After indulging the prisoner, for such our hero must now be considered,
with what he thought a reasonable time for reflection, Major Melville
resumed his examination, premising that, as Mr. Waverley seemed to
object to general questions, his interrogatories should be as specific as
his information permitted. He then proceeded in his investigation,
dictating, as he went on, the import of the questions and answers to the
amanuensis, by whom it was written down.
'Did Mr. Waverley know one Humphry Houghton, a
non-commissioned officer in Gardiner's dragoons?'
'Certainly; he was sergeant of my troop, and son of a tenant of my
uncle.'
'Exactly--and had a considerable share of your confidence, and an
influence among his comrades?'
'I had never occasion to repose confidence in a person of his
description,' answered Waverley. 'I favoured Sergeant Houghton as a
clever, active young fellow, and I believe his fellow-soldiers respected
him accordingly.'
'But you used through this man,' answered Major Melville, 'to
communicate with such of your troop as were recruited upon
Waverley-Honour?'
'Certainly; the poor fellows, finding themselves in a regiment chiefly
composed of Scotch or Irish, looked up to me in any of their little
distresses, and naturally made their countryman and sergeant their
spokesman on such occasions.'
'Sergeant Houghton's influence,' continued the Major, 'extended, then,
particularly over those soldiers who followed you to the regiment from
your uncle's estate?'
'Surely; but what is that to the present purpose?'
'To that I am just coming, and I beseech your candid reply. Have you,
since leaving the regiment, held any correspondence, direct or indirect,
with this Sergeant Houghton?'
'I!--I hold correspondence with a man of his rank and situation! How,
or for what purpose?'
'That you are to explain. But did you not, for example, send to him for
some books?'
'You remind me of a trifling commission,' said Waverley, 'which I gave
Sergeant Houghton, because my servant could not read. I do recollect I
bade him, by letter, select some books, of which I sent him a list, and
send them to me at Tully-Veolan.'
'And of what description were those books?'
'They related almost entirely to elegant literature; they were designed
for a lady's perusal.'
'Were there not, Mr. Waverley, treasonable tracts and pamphlets among
them?'
'There were some political treatises, into which I hardly looked. They
had been sent to me by the officiousness of a kind friend, whose heart
is more to be esteemed than his prudence or political sagacity; they
seemed to be dull compositions.'
'That friend,' continued the persevering inquirer, 'was a Mr. Pembroke,
a nonjuring clergyman, the author of two treasonable works, of which
the manuscripts were found among your baggage?'
'But of which, I give you my honour as a gentleman,' replied Waverley,
'I never read six pages.'
'I am not your judge, Mr. Waverley; your examination will be
transmitted elsewhere. And now to proceed. Do you know a person that
passes by the name of Wily Will, or Will Ruthven?'
'I never heard of such a name till this moment.'
'Did you never through such a person, or any other person,
communicate with Sergeant Humphry Houghton, instigating him to
desert, with as many of his comrades as he could seduce to join him,
and unite with the Highlanders and other rebels now in arms under the
command of the Young Pretender?'
'I assure you I am not only entirely guiltless of the plot you have laid to
my charge, but I detest it from the very bottom of my soul, nor would I
be guilty of such treachery to gain a throne, either for myself or any
other man alive.'
'Yet when I consider this envelope in the handwriting of one of those
misguided gentlemen who are now in arms against their country, and
the verses which it enclosed, I cannot but find some analogy between
the enterprise I have mentioned and the exploit of Wogan, which the
writer seems to expect you should imitate.'
Waverley was struck with the coincidence, but denied that the wishes
or expectations of the letter-writer were to be regarded as proofs of a
charge otherwise chimerical.
'But, if I am rightly informed, your time was spent, during your absence
from the regiment, between the house of this Highland Chieftain and
that of Mr. Bradwardine of Bradwardine, also in arms for this
unfortunate cause?'
'I do not mean to disguise it; but I do deny, most resolutely, being privy
to any of their designs against the government.'
'You do not, however, I presume, intend to deny that you attended your
host Glennaquoich to a rendezvous, where, under a pretence of a
general hunting match, most of the accomplices of his treason were
assembled to concert measures for taking arms?'
'I acknowledge having been at such a meeting,' said Waverley; 'but I
neither heard nor saw anything which could give it the character you
affix to it.'
'From thence you proceeded,' continued the magistrate, 'with
Glennaquoich and a part of his clan to join the army of the Young
Pretender, and returned, after having paid your homage to him, to
discipline and arm the remainder, and unite them to his bands on their
way southward?'
'I never went with Glennaquoich on such an errand. I never so much as
heard that the person whom you mention was in the country.'
He then detailed the history of his misfortune at the hunting match, and
added, that on his return he found himself suddenly deprived of his
commission, and did not deny that he then, for the first time, observed
symptoms which indicated a disposition in the Highlanders to take
arms; but added that, having no inclination to join their cause, and no
longer any reason for remaining in Scotland, he was now on his return
to his native country, to which he had been summoned by those who
had a right to direct his motions, as Major Melville would perceive
from the letters on the table.
Major Melville accordingly perused the letters of Richard Waverley, of
Sir Everard, and of Aunt Rachel; but the inferences he drew from them
were different from what Waverley expected. They held the language
of discontent with government, threw out no obscure hints of revenge,
and that of poor Aunt Rachel, which plainly asserted the justice of the
Stuart cause, was held to contain the open avowal of what the others
only ventured to insinuate.
'Permit me another question, Mr. Waverley,' said Major Melville. 'Did
you not receive repeated letters from your commanding officer,
warning you and commanding you to return to your post, and
acquainting you with the use made of your name to spread discontent
among your soldiers?'
'I never did, Major Melville. One letter, indeed, I received from him,
containing a civil intimation of his wish that I would employ my leave
of absence otherwise than in constant residence at Bradwardine, as to
which, I own, I thought he was not called on to interfere; and, finally, I
received, on the same day on which I observed myself superseded in
the "Gazette," a second letter from Colonel Gardiner, commanding me
to join the regiment, an order which, owing to my absence, already
mentioned and accounted for, I received too late to be obeyed. If there
were any intermediate letters, and certainly from the Colonel's high
character I think it probable that there were, they have never reached
me.'
'I have omitted, Mr. Waverley,' continued Major Melville, 'to inquire
after a matter of less consequence, but which has nevertheless been
publicly talked of to your disadvantage. It is said that a treasonable
toast having been proposed in your hearing and presence, you, holding
his Majesty's commission, suffered the task of resenting it to devolve
upon another gentleman of the company. This, sir, cannot be charged
against you in a court of justice; but if, as I am informed, the officers of
your regiment requested an explanation of such a rumour, as a
gentleman and soldier I cannot but be surprised that you did not afford
it to them.'
This was too much. Beset and pressed on every hand by accusations, in
which gross falsehoods were blended with such circumstances of truth
as could not fail to procure them credit,--alone, unfriended, and in a
strange land, Waverley almost gave up his life and honour for lost, and,
leaning his head upon his hand, resolutely refused to answer any further
questions, since the fair and candid statement he had already made had
only served to furnish arms against him.
Without expressing either surprise or displeasure at the change in
Waverley's manner, Major Melville proceeded composedly to put
several other queries to him.
'What does it avail me to answer you?' said Edward sullenly. 'You
appear convinced of my guilt, and wrest every reply I have made to
support your own preconceived opinion. Enjoy your supposed triumph,
then, and torment me no further. If I am capable of the cowardice and
treachery your charge burdens me with, I am not worthy to be believed
in any reply I can make to you. If I am not deserving of your
suspicion--and God and my own conscience bear evidence with me that
it is so--then I do not see why I should, by my candour, lend my
accusers arms against my innocence. There is no reason I should
answer a word more, and I am determined to abide by this resolution.'
And again he resumed his posture of sullen and determined silence.
'Allow me,' said the magistrate, 'to remind you of one reason that may
suggest the propriety of a candid and open confession. The
inexperience of youth, Mr. Waverley, lays it open to the plans of the
more designing and artful; and one of your friends at least--I mean
Mac-Ivor of Glennaquoich--ranks high in the latter class, as, from your
apparent ingenuousness, youth, and unacquaintance with the manners
of the Highlands, I should be disposed to place you among the former.
In such a case, a false step or error like yours, which I shall be happy to
consider as involuntary, may be atoned for, and I would willingly act as
intercessor. But, as you must necessarily be acquainted with the
strength of the individuals in this country who have assumed arms, with
their means and with their plans, I must expect you will merit this
mediation on my part by a frank and candid avowal of all that has come
to your knowledge upon these heads; in which case, I think I can
venture to promise that a very short personal restraint will be the only
ill consequence that can arise from your accession to these unhappy
intrigues.'
Waverley listened with great composure until the end of this
exhortation, when, springing from his seat with an energy he had not
yet displayed, he replied, 'Major Melville, since that is your name, I
have hitherto answered your questions with candour, or declined them
with temper, because their import concerned myself alone; but, as you
presume to esteem me mean enough to commence informer against
others, who received me, whatever may be their public misconduct, as
a guest and friend, I declare to you that I consider your questions as an
insult infinitely more offensive than your calumnious suspicions; and
that, since my hard fortune permits me no other mode of resenting them
than by verbal defiance, you should sooner have my heart out of my
bosom than a single syllable of information on subjects which I could
only become acquainted with in the full confidence of unsuspecting
hospitality.'
Mr. Morton and the Major looked at each other; and the former, who,
in the course of the examination, had been repeatedly troubled with a
sorry rheum, had recourse to his snuff-box and his handkerchief.
'Mr. Waverley,' said the Major, 'my present situation prohibits me alike
from giving or receiving offence, and I will not protract a discussion
which approaches to either. I am afraid I must sign a warrant for
detaining you in custody, but this house shall for the present be your
prison. I fear I cannot persuade you to accept a share of our
supper?--(Edward shook his head)--but I will order refreshments in
your apartment.'
Our hero bowed and withdrew, under guard of the officers of justice, to
a small but handsome room, where, declining all offers of food or wine,
he flung himself on the bed, and, stupified by the harassing events and
mental fatigue of this miserable day, he sunk into a deep and heavy
slumber. This was more than he himself could have expected; but it is
mentioned of the North-American Indians, when at the stake of torture,
that on the least intermission of agony they will sleep until the fire is
applied to awaken them.
CHAPTER III
A CONFERENCE AND THE CONSEQUENCE
Major Melville had detained Mr. Morton during his examination of
Waverley, both because he thought he might derive assistance from his
practical good sense and approved loyalty, and also because it was
agreeable to have a witness of unimpeached candour and veracity to
proceedings which touched the honour and safety of a young
Englishman of high rank and family, and the expectant heir of a large
fortune. Every step he knew would be rigorously canvassed, and it was
his business to place the justice and integrity of his own conduct
beyond the limits of question.
When Waverley retired, the laird and clergyman of Cairnvreckan sat
down in silence to their evening meal. While the servants were in
attendance neither chose to say anything on the circumstances which
occupied their minds, and neither felt it easy to speak upon any other.
The youth and apparent frankness of Waverley stood in strong contrast
to the shades of suspicion which darkened around him, and he had a
sort of naivete and openness of demeanour that seemed to belong to
one unhackneyed in the ways of intrigue, and which pleaded highly in
his favour.
Each mused over the particulars of the examination, and each viewed it
through the medium of his own feelings. Both were men of ready and
acute talent, and both were equally competent to combine various parts
of evidence, and to deduce from them the necessary conclusions. But
the wide difference of their habits and education often occasioned a
great discrepancy in their respective deductions from admitted
premises.
Major Melville had been versed in camps and cities; he was vigilant by
profession and cautious from experience, had met with much evil in the
world, and therefore, though himself an upright magistrate and an
honourable man, his opinions of others were always strict, and
sometimes unjustly severe. Mr. Morton, on the contrary, had passed
from the literary pursuits of a college, where he was beloved by his
companions and respected by his teachers, to the ease and simplicity of
his present charge, where his opportunities of witnessing evil were few,
and never dwelt upon but in order to encourage repentance and
amendment; and where the love and respect of his parishioners repaid
his affectionate zeal in their behalf by endeavouring to disguise from
him what they knew would give him the most acute pain, namely, their
own occasional transgressions of the duties which it was the business
of his life to recommend. Thus it was a common saying in the
neighbourhood (though both were popular characters), that the laird
knew only the ill in the parish and the minister only the good.
A love of letters, though kept in subordination to his clerical studies
and duties, also distinguished the pastor of Cairnvreckan, and had
tinged his mind in earlier days with a slight feeling of romance, which
no after incidents of real life had entirely dissipated. The early loss of
an amiable young woman whom he had married for love, and who was
quickly followed to the grave by an only child, had also served, even
after the lapse of many years, to soften a disposition naturally mild and
contemplative. His feelings on the present occasion were therefore
likely to differ from those of the severe disciplinarian, strict magistrate,
and distrustful man of the world.
When the servants had withdrawn, the silence of both parties continued,
until Major Melville, filling his glass and pushing the bottle to Mr.
Morton, commenced-'A distressing affair this, Mr. Morton. I fear this youngster has brought
himself within the compass of a halter.'
'God forbid!' answered the clergyman.
'Marry, and amen,' said the temporal magistrate; 'but I think even your
merciful logic will hardly deny the conclusion.'
'Surely, Major,' answered the clergyman, 'I should hope it might be
averted, for aught we have heard tonight?'
'Indeed!' replied Melville. 'But, my good parson, you are one of those
who would communicate to every criminal the benefit of clergy.'
'Unquestionably I would. Mercy and long-suffering are the grounds of
the doctrine I am called to teach.'
'True, religiously speaking; but mercy to a criminal may be gross
injustice to the community. I don't speak of this young fellow in
particular, who I heartily wish may be able to clear himself, for I like
both his modesty and his spirit. But I fear he has rushed upon his fate.'
'And why? Hundreds of misguided gentlemen are now in arms against
the government, many, doubtless, upon principles which education and
early prejudice have gilded with the names of patriotism and heroism;
Justice, when she selects her victims from such a multitude (for surely
all will not be destroyed), must regard the moral motive. He whom
ambition or hope of personal advantage has led to disturb the peace of a
well-ordered government, let him fall a victim to the laws; but surely
youth, misled by the wild visions of chivalry and imaginary loyalty,
may plead for pardon.'
'If visionary chivalry and imaginary loyalty come within the
predicament of high treason,' replied the magistrate, 'I know no court in
Christendom, my dear Mr. Morton, where they can sue out their
Habeas Corpus.'
'But I cannot see that this youth's guilt is at all established to my
satisfaction,' said the clergyman.
'Because your good-nature blinds your good sense,' replied Major
Melville. 'Observe now: This young man, descended of a family of
hereditary Jacobites, his uncle the leader of the Tory interest in the
county of ----, his father a disobliged and discontented courtier, his
tutor a nonjuror and the author of two treasonable volumes--this youth,
I say, enters into Gardiner's dragoons, bringing with him a body of
young fellows from his uncle's estate, who have not stickled at avowing
in their way the High-Church principles they learned at
Waverley-Honour, in their disputes with their comrades. To these
young men Waverley is unusually attentive; they are supplied with
money beyond a soldier's wants and inconsistent with his discipline;
and are under the management of a favourite sergeant, through whom
they hold an unusually close communication with their captain, and
affect to consider themselves as independent of the other officers, and
superior to their comrades.'
'All this, my dear Major, is the natural consequence of their attachment
to their young landlord, and of their finding themselves in a regiment
levied chiefly in the north of Ireland and the west of Scotland, and of
course among comrades disposed to quarrel with them, both as
Englishmen and as members of the Church of England.'
'Well said, parson!' replied the magistrate. 'I would some of your synod
heard you. But let me go on. This young man obtains leave of absence,
goes to Tully-Veolan--the principles of the Baron of Bradwardine are
pretty well known, not to mention that this lad's uncle brought him off
in the year fifteen; he engages there in a brawl, in which he is said to
have disgraced the commission he bore; Colonel Gardiner writes to him,
first mildly, then more sharply--I think you will not doubt his having
done so, since he says so; the mess invite him to explain the quarrel in
which he is said to have been involved; he neither replies to his
commander nor his comrades. In the meanwhile his soldiers become
mutinous and disorderly, and at length, when the rumour of this
unhappy rebellion becomes general, his favourite Sergeant Houghton
and another fellow are detected in correspondence with a French
emissary, accredited, as he says, by Captain Waverley, who urges him,
according to the men's confession, to desert with the troop and join
their captain, who was with Prince Charles. In the meanwhile this
trusty captain is, by his own admission, residing at Glennaquoich with
the most active, subtle, and desperate Jacobite in Scotland; he goes
with him at least as far as their famous hunting rendezvous, and I fear a
little farther. Meanwhile two other summonses are sent him; one
warning him of the disturbances in his troop, another peremptorily
ordering him to repair to the regiment, which, indeed, common sense
might have dictated, when he observed rebellion thickening all round
him. He returns an absolute refusal, and throws up his commission.'
'He had been already deprived of it,' said Mr. Morton.
'But he regrets,' replied Melville, 'that the measure had anticipated his
resignation. His baggage is seized at his quarters and at Tully-Veolan,
and is found to contain a stock of pestilent Jacobitical pamphlets,
enough to poison a whole country, besides the unprinted lucubrations
of his worthy friend and tutor Mr. Pembroke.'
'He says he never read them,' answered the minister.
'In an ordinary case I should believe him,' replied the magistrate, 'for
they are as stupid and pedantic in composition as mischievous in their
tenets. But can you suppose anything but value for the principles they
maintain would induce a young man of his age to lug such trash about
with him? Then, when news arrive of the approach of the rebels, he sets
out in a sort of disguise, refusing to tell his name; and, if yon old
fanatic tell truth, attended by a very suspicious character, and mounted
on a horse known to have belonged to Glennaquoich, and bearing on
his person letters from his family expressing high rancour against the
house of Brunswick, and a copy of verses in praise of one Wogan, who
abjured the service of the Parliament to join the Highland insurgents,
when in arms to restore the house of Stuart, with a body of English
cavalry--the very counterpart of his own plot--and summed up with a
"Go thou and do likewise" from that loyal subject, and most safe and
peaceable character, Fergus Mac-Ivor of Glennaquoich, Vich Ian Vohr,
and so forth. And, lastly,' continued Major Melville, warming in the
detail of his arguments, 'where do we find this second edition of
Cavalier Wogan? Why, truly, in the very track most proper for
execution of his design, and pistolling the first of the king's subjects
who ventures to question his intentions.'
Mr. Morton prudently abstained from argument, which he perceived
would only harden the magistrate in his opinion, and merely asked how
he intended to dispose of the prisoner?
'It is a question of some difficulty, considering the state of the country,'
said Major Melville.
'Could you not detain him (being such a gentleman-like young man)
here in your own house, out of harm's way, till this storm blow over?'
'My good friend,' said Major Melville, 'neither your house nor mine
will be long out of harm's way, even were it legal to confine him here. I
have just learned that the commander-in-chief, who marched into the
Highlands to seek out and disperse the insurgents, has declined giving
them battle at Coryarrick, and marched on northward with all the
disposable force of government to Inverness, John-o'-Groat's House, or
the devil, for what I know, leaving the road to the Low Country open
and undefended to the Highland army.'
'Good God!' said the clergyman. 'Is the man a coward, a traitor, or an
idiot?'
'None of the three, I believe,' answered Melville. 'Sir John has the
commonplace courage of a common soldier, is honest enough, does
what he is commanded, and understands what is told him, but is as fit
to act for himself in circumstances of importance as I, my dear parson,
to occupy your pulpit.'
This important public intelligence naturally diverted the discourse from
Waverley for some time; at length, however, the subject was resumed.
'I believe,' said Major Melville, 'that I must give this young man in
charge to some of the detached parties of armed volunteers who were
lately sent out to overawe the disaffected districts. They are now
recalled towards Stirling, and a small body comes this way to-morrow
or next day, commanded by the westland man--what's his name? You
saw him, and said he was the very model of one of Cromwell's military
saints.'
'Gilfillan, the Cameronian,' answered Mr. Morton. 'I wish the young
gentleman may be safe with him. Strange things are done in the heat
and hurry of minds in so agitating a crisis, and I fear Gilfillan is of a
sect which has suffered persecution without learning mercy.'
'He has only to lodge Mr. Waverley in Stirling Castle,' said the Major;
'I will give strict injunctions to treat him well. I really cannot devise
any better mode for securing him, and I fancy you would hardly advise
me to encounter the responsibility of setting him at liberty.'
'But you will have no objection to my seeing him tomorrow in private?'
said the minister.
'None, certainly; your loyalty and character are my warrant. But with
what view do you make the request?'
'Simply,' replied Mr. Morton, 'to make the experiment whether he may
not be brought to communicate to me some circumstances which may
hereafter be useful to alleviate, if not to exculpate, his conduct.'
The friends now parted and retired to rest, each filled with the most
anxious reflections on the state of the country.
CHAPTER IV
A CONFIDANT
Waverley awoke in the morning from troubled dreams and unrefreshing
slumbers to a full consciousness of the horrors of his situation. How it
might terminate he knew not. He might be delivered up to military law,
which, in the midst of civil war, was not likely to be scrupulous in the
choice of its victims or the quality of the evidence. Nor did he feel
much more comfortable at the thoughts of a trial before a Scottish court
of justice, where he knew the laws and forms differed in many respects
from those of England, and had been taught to believe, however
erroneously, that the liberty and rights of the subject were less carefully
protected. A sentiment of bitterness rose in his mind against the
government, which he considered as the cause of his embarrassment
and peril, and he cursed internally his scrupulous rejection of
Mac-Ivor's invitation to accompany him to the field.
'Why did not I,' he said to himself, 'like other men of honour, take the
earliest opportunity to welcome to Britain the descendant of her ancient
kings and lineal heir of her throne? Why did not I-Unthread the rude eye of rebellion, And welcome home again discarded
faith, Seek out Prince Charles, and fall before his feet?
All that has been recorded of excellence and worth in the house of
Waverley has been founded upon their loyal faith to the house of Stuart.
From the interpretation which this Scotch magistrate has put upon the
letters of my uncle and father, it is plain that I ought to have understood
them as marshalling me to the course of my ancestors; and it has been
my gross dulness, joined to the obscurity of expression which they
adopted for the sake of security, that has confounded my judgment.
Had I yielded to the first generous impulse of indignation when I
learned that my honour was practised upon, how different had been my
present situation! I had then been free and in arms fighting, like my
forefathers, for love, for loyalty, and for fame. And now I am here,
netted and in the toils, at the disposal of a suspicious, stern, and
cold-hearted man, perhaps to be turned over to the solitude of a
dungeon or the infamy of a public execution. O, Fergus! how true has
your prophecy proved; and how speedy, how very speedy, has been its
accomplishment!'
While Edward was ruminating on these painful subjects of
contemplation, and very naturally, though not quite so justly, bestowing
upon the reigning dynasty that blame which was due to chance, or, in
part at least, to his own unreflecting conduct, Mr. Morton availed
himself of Major Melville's permission to pay him an early visit.
Waverley's first impulse was to intimate a desire that he might not be
disturbed with questions or conversation; but he suppressed it upon
observing the benevolent and reverend appearance of the clergyman
who had rescued him from the immediate violence of the villagers.
'I believe, sir,' said the unfortunate young man,'that in any other
circumstances I should have had as much gratitude to express to you as
the safety of my life may be worth; but such is the present tumult of my
mind, and such is my anticipation of what I am yet likely to endure,
that I can hardly offer you thanks for your interposition.'
Mr. Morton replied, that, far from making any claim upon his good
opinion, his only wish and the sole purpose of his visit was to find out
the means of deserving it. 'My excellent friend, Major Melville,' he
continued, 'has feelings and duties as a soldier and public functionary
by which I am not fettered; nor can I always coincide in opinions which
he forms, perhaps with too little allowance for the imperfections of
human nature.' He paused and then proceeded: 'I do not intrude myself
on your confidence, Mr. Waverley, for the purpose of learning any
circumstances the knowledge of which can be prejudicial either to
yourself or to others; but I own my earnest wish is that you would
intrust me with any particulars which could lead to your exculpation. I
can solemnly assure you they will be deposited with a faithful and, to
the extent of his limited powers, a zealous agent.'
'You are, sir, I presume, a Presbyterian clergyman?' Mr. Morton bowed.
'Were I to be guided by the prepossessions of education, I might
distrust your friendly professions in my case; but I have observed that
similar prejudices are nourished in this country against your
professional brethren of the Episcopal persuasion, and I am willing to
believe them equally unfounded in both cases.'
'Evil to him that thinks otherwise,' said Mr. Morton; 'or who holds
church government and ceremonies as the exclusive gage of Christian
faith or moral virtue.'
'But,' continued Waverley, 'I cannot perceive why I should trouble you
with a detail of particulars, out of which, after revolving them as
carefully as possible in my recollection, I find myself unable to explain
much of what is charged against me. I know, indeed, that I am innocent,
but I hardly see how I can hope to prove myself so.'
'It is for that very reason, Mr. Waverley,' said the clergyman, 'that I
venture to solicit your confidence. My knowledge of individuals in this
country is pretty general, and can upon occasion be extended. Your
situation will, I fear, preclude your taking those active steps for
recovering intelligence or tracing imposture which I would willingly
undertake in your behalf; and if you are not benefited by my exertions,
at least they cannot be prejudicial to you.'
Waverley, after a few minutes' reflection, was convinced that his
reposing confidence in Mr. Morton, so far as he himself was concerned,
could hurt neither Mr. Bradwardine nor Fergus Mac-Ivor, both of
whom had openly assumed arms against the government, and that it
might possibly, if the professions of his new friend corresponded in
sincerity with the earnestness of his expression, be of some service to
himself. He therefore ran briefly over most of the events with which the
reader is already acquainted, suppressing his attachment to Flora, and
indeed neither mentioning her nor Rose Bradwardine in the course of
his narrative.
Mr. Morton seemed particularly struck with the account of Waverley's
visit to Donald Bean Lean. 'I am glad,' he said, 'you did not mention
this circumstance to the Major. It is capable of great misconstruction on
the part of those who do not consider the power of curiosity and the
influence of romance as motives of youthful conduct. When I was a
young man like you, Mr. Waverley, any such hair-brained expedition (I
beg your pardon for the expression) would have had inexpressible
charms for me. But there are men in the world who will not believe that
danger and fatigue are often incurred without any very adequate cause,
and therefore who are sometimes led to assign motives of action
entirely foreign to the truth. This man Bean Lean is renowned through
the country as a sort of Robin Hood, and the stories which are told of
his address and enterprise are the common tales of the winter fireside.
He certainly possesses talents beyond the rude sphere in which he
moves; and, being neither destitute of ambition nor encumbered with
scruples, he will probably attempt, by every means, to distinguish
himself during the period of these unhappy commotions.' Mr. Morton
then made a careful memorandum of the various particulars of
Waverley's interview with Donald Bean Lean and the other
circumstances which he had communicated.
The interest which this good man seemed to take in his misfortunes,
above all, the full confidence he appeared to repose in his innocence,
had the natural effect of softening Edward's heart, whom the coldness
of Major Melville had taught to believe that the world was leagued to
oppress him. He shook Mr. Morton warmly by the hand, and, assuring
him that his kindness and sympathy had relieved his mind of a heavy
load, told him that, whatever might be his own fate, he belonged to a
family who had both gratitude and the power of displaying it. The
earnestness of his thanks called drops to the eyes of the worthy
clergyman, who was doubly interested in the cause for which he had
volunteered his services, by observing the genuine and undissembled
feelings of his young friend.
Edward now inquired if Mr. Morton knew what was likely to be his
destination.
'Stirling Castle,' replied his friend; 'and so far I am well pleased for
your sake, for the governor is a man of honour and humanity. But I am
more doubtful of your treatment upon the road; Major Melville is
involuntarily obliged to intrust the custody of your person to another.'
'I am glad of it,' answered Waverley. 'I detest that cold-blooded
calculating Scotch magistrate. I hope he and I shall never meet more.
He had neither sympathy with my innocence nor with my wretchedness;
and the petrifying accuracy with which he attended to every form of
civility, while he tortured me by his questions, his suspicions, and his
inferences, was as tormenting as the racks of the Inquisition. Do not
vindicate him, my dear sir, for that I cannot bear with patience; tell me
rather who is to have the charge of so important a state prisoner as I
am.'
'I believe a person called Gilfillan, one of the sect who are termed
Cameronians.'
'I never heard of them before.'
'They claim,' said the clergyman, 'to represent the more strict and
severe Presbyterians, who, in Charles Second's and James Second's
days, refused to profit by the Toleration, or Indulgence, as it was called,
which was extended to others of that religion. They held conventicles
in the open fields, and, being treated with great violence and cruelty by
the Scottish government, more than once took arms during those reigns.
They take their name from their leader, Richard Cameron.'
'I recollect,' said Waverley; 'but did not the triumph of Presbytery at the
Revolution extinguish that sect?'
'By no means,' replied Morton; 'that great event fell yet far short of
what they proposed, which was nothing less than the complete
establishment of the Presbyterian Church upon the grounds of the old
Solemn League and Covenant. Indeed, I believe they scarce knew what
they wanted; but being a numerous body of men, and not unacquainted
with the use of arms, they kept themselves together as a separate party
in the state, and at the time of the Union had nearly formed a most
unnatural league with their old enemies the Jacobites to oppose that
important national measure. Since that time their numbers have
gradually diminished; but a good many are still to be found in the
western counties, and several, with a better temper than in 1707, have
now taken arms for government. This person, whom they call Gifted
Gilfillan, has been long a leader among them, and now heads a small
party, which will pass here to-day or to-morrow on their march towards
Stirling, under whose escort Major Melville proposes you shall travel. I
would willingly speak to Gilfillan in your behalf; but, having deeply
imbibed all the prejudices of his sect, and being of the same fierce
disposition, he would pay little regard to the remonstrances of an
Erastian divine, as he would politely term me. And now, farewell, my
young friend; for the present I must not weary out the Major's
indulgence, that I may obtain his permission to visit you again in the
course of the day.'
CHAPTER V
THINGS MEND A LITTLE
About noon Mr. Morton returned and brought an invitation from Major
Melville that Mr. Waverley would honour him with his company to
dinner, notwithstanding the unpleasant affair which detained him at
Cairnvreckan, from which he should heartily rejoice to see Mr.
Waverley completely extricated. The truth was that Mr. Morton's
favourable report and opinion had somewhat staggered the
preconceptions of the old soldier concerning Edward's supposed
accession to the mutiny in the regiment; and in the unfortunate state of
the country the mere suspicion of disaffection or an inclination to join
the insurgent Jacobites might infer criminality indeed, but certainly not
dishonour. Besides, a person whom the Major trusted had reported to
him (though, as it proved, inaccurately) a contradiction of the agitating
news of the preceding evening. According to this second edition of the
intelligence, the Highlanders had withdrawn from the Lowland frontier
with the purpose of following the army in their march to Inverness. The
Major was at a loss, indeed, to reconcile his information with the
well-known abilities of some of the gentlemen in the Highland army,
yet it was the course which was likely to be most agreeable to others.
He remembered the same policy had detained them in the north in the
year 1715, and he anticipated a similar termination to the insurrection
as upon that occasion.
This news put him in such good-humour that he readily acquiesced in
Mr. Morton's proposal to pay some hospitable attention to his
unfortunate guest, and voluntarily added, he hoped the whole affair
would prove a youthful escapade, which might be easily atoned by a
short confinement. The kind mediator had some trouble to prevail on
his young friend to accept the invitation. He dared not urge to him the
real motive, which was a good-natured wish to secure a favourable
report of Waverley's case from Major Melville to Governor Blakeney.
He remarked, from the flashes of our hero's spirit, that touching upon
this topic would be sure to defeat his purpose. He therefore pleaded that
the invitation argued the Major's disbelief of any part of the accusation
which was inconsistent with Waverley's conduct as a soldier and a man
of honour, and that to decline his courtesy might be interpreted into a
consciousness that it was unmerited. In short, he so far satisfied
Edward that the manly and proper course was to meet the Major on
easy terms that, suppressing his strong dislike again to encounter his
cold and punctilious civility, Waverley agreed to be guided by his new
friend.
The meeting at first was stiff and formal enough. But Edward, having
accepted the invitation, and his mind being really soothed and relieved
by the kindness of Morton, held himself bound to behave with ease,
though he could not affect cordiality. The Major was somewhat of a
bon vivant, and his wine was excellent. He told his old campaign
stories, and displayed much knowledge of men and manners. Mr.
Morton had an internal fund of placid and quiet gaiety, which seldom
failed to enliven any small party in which he found himself pleasantly
seated. Waverley, whose life was a dream, gave ready way to the
predominating impulse and became the most lively of the party. He had
at all times remarkable natural powers of conversation, though easily
silenced by discouragement. On the present occasion he piqued himself
upon leaving on the minds of his companions a favourable impression
of one who, under such disastrous circumstances, could sustain his
misfortunes with ease and gaiety. His spirits, though not unyielding,
were abundantly elastic, and soon seconded his efforts. The trio were
engaged in very lively discourse, apparently delighted with each other,
and the kind host was pressing a third bottle of Burgundy, when the
sound of a drum was heard at some distance. The Major, who, in the
glee of an old soldier, had forgot the duties of a magistrate, cursed, with
a muttered military oath, the circumstances which recalled him to his
official functions. He rose and went towards the window, which
commanded a very near view of the highroad, and he was followed by
his guests.
The drum advanced, beating no measured martial tune, but a kind of
rub-a-dub-dub, like that with which the fire-drum startles the
slumbering artizans of a Scotch burgh. It is the object of this history to
do justice to all men; I must therefore record, in justice to the drummer,
that he protested he could beat any known march or point of war known
in the British army, and had accordingly commenced with
'Dumbarton's Drums,' when he was silenced by Gifted Gilfillan, the
commander of the party, who refused to permit his followers to move
to this profane, and even, as he said, persecutive tune, and commanded
the drummer to beat the 119th Psalm. As this was beyond the capacity
of the drubber of sheepskin, he was fain to have recourse to the
inoffensive row-de-dow as a harmless substitute for the sacred music
which his instrument or skill were unable to achieve. This may be held
a trifling anecdote, but the drummer in question was no less than
town-drummer of Anderton. I remember his successor in office, a
member of that enlightened body, the British Convention. Be his
memory, therefore, treated with due respect.
CHAPTER VI
A VOLUNTEER SIXTY YEARS SINCE
On hearing the unwelcome sound of the drum, Major Melville hastily
opened a sashed door and stepped out upon a sort of terrace which
divided his house from the highroad from which the martial music
proceeded. Waverley and his new friend followed him, though
probably he would have dispensed with their attendance. They soon
recognised in solemn march, first, the performer upon the drum;
secondly, a large flag of four compartments, on which were inscribed
the words, COVENANT, KIRK, KING, KINGDOMS. The person who
was honoured with this charge was followed by the commander of the
party, a thin, dark, rigid-looking man, about sixty years old. The
spiritual pride, which in mine host of the Candlestick mantled in a sort
of supercilious hypocrisy, was in this man's face elevated and yet
darkened by genuine and undoubting fanaticism. It was impossible to
behold him without imagination placing him in some strange crisis,
where religious zeal was the ruling principle. A martyr at the stake, a
soldier in the field, a lonely and banished wanderer consoled by the
intensity and supposed purity of his faith under every earthly privation,
perhaps a persecuting inquisitor, as terrific in power as unyielding in
adversity; any of these seemed congenial characters to this personage.
With these high traits of energy, there was something in the affected
precision and solemnity of his deportment and discourse that bordered
upon the ludicrous; so that, according to the mood of the spectator's
mind and the light under which Mr. Gilfillan presented himself, one
might have feared, admired, or laughed at him. His dress was that of a
West-Country peasant, of better materials indeed than that of the lower
rank, but in no respect affecting either the mode of the age or of the
Scottish gentry at any period. His arms were a broadsword and pistols,
which, from the antiquity of their appearance, might have seen the rout
of Pentland or Bothwell Brigg.
As he came up a few steps to meet Major Melville, and touched
solemnly, but slightly, his huge and over-brimmed blue bonnet, in
answer to the Major, who had courteously raised a small triangular
gold-laced hat, Waverley was irresistibly impressed with the idea that
he beheld a leader of the Roundheads of yore in conference with one of
Marlborough's captains.
The group of about thirty armed men who followed this gifted
commander was of a motley description. They were in ordinary
Lowland dresses, of different colours, which, contrasted with the arms
they bore, gave them an irregular and mobbish appearance; so much is
the eye accustomed to connect uniformity of dress with the military
character. In front were a few who apparently partook of their leader's
enthusiasm, men obviously to be feared in a combat, where their
natural courage was exalted by religious zeal. Others puffed and
strutted, filled with the importance of carrying arms and all the novelty
of their situation, while the rest, apparently fatigued with their march,
dragged their limbs listlessly along, or straggled from their companions
to procure such refreshments as the neighbouring cottages and
alehouses afforded. Six grenadiers of Ligonier's, thought the Major to
himself, as his mind reverted to his own military experience, would
have sent all these fellows to the right about.
Greeting, however, Mr. Gilfillan civilly, he requested to know if he had
received the letter he had sent to him upon his march, and could
undertake the charge of the state prisoner whom he there mentioned as
far as Stirling Castle. 'Yea,' was the concise reply of the Cameronian
leader, in a voice which seemed to issue from the very penetralia of his
person.
'But your escort, Mr. Gilfillan, is not so strong as I expected,' said
Major Melville.
'Some of the people,' replied Gilfillan, 'hungered and were athirst by the
way, and tarried until their poor souls were refreshed with the word.'
'I am sorry, sir,' replied the Major, 'you did not trust to your refreshing
your men at Cairnvreckan; whatever my house contains is at the
command of persons employed in the service.'
'It was not of creature-comforts I spake,' answered the Covenanter,
regarding Major Melville with something like a smile of contempt;
'howbeit, I thank you; but the people remained waiting upon the
precious Mr. Jabesh Rentowel for the out-pouring of the afternoon
exhortation.'
'And have you, sir,' said the Major, 'when the rebels are about to spread
themselves through this country, actually left a great part of your
command at a fieldpreaching?'
Gilfillan again smiled scornfully as he made this indirect answer--'Even
thus are the children of this world wiser in their generation than the
children of light!'
'However, sir,' said the Major, 'as you are to take charge of this
gentleman to Stirling, and deliver him, with these papers, into the hands
of Governor Blakeney, I beseech you to observe some rules of military
discipline upon your march. For example, I would advise you to keep
your men more closely together, and that each in his march should
cover his file-leader, instead of straggling like geese upon a common;
and, for fear of surprise, I further recommend to you to form a small
advance-party of your best men, with a single vidette in front of the
whole march, so that when you approach a village or a wood'--(here the
Major interrupted himself)--'But as I don't observe you listen to me, Mr.
Gilfillan, I suppose I need not give myself the trouble to say more upon
the subject. You are a better judge, unquestionably, than I am of the
measures to be pursued; but one thing I would have you well aware of,
that you are to treat this gentleman, your prisoner, with no rigour nor
incivility, and are to subject him to no other restraint than is necessary
for his security.'
'I have looked into my commission,' said Mr. Gilfillan,' subscribed by a
worthy and professing nobleman, William, Earl of Glencairn; nor do I
find it therein set down that I am to receive any charges or commands
anent my doings from Major William Melville of Cairnvreckan.'
Major Melville reddened even to the well-powdered ears which
appeared beneath his neat military sidecurls, the more so as he
observed Mr. Morton smile at the same moment. 'Mr. Gilfillan,' he
answered, with some asperity, 'I beg ten thousand pardons for
interfering with a person of your importance. I thought, however, that
as you have been bred a grazier, if I mistake not, there might be
occasion to remind you of the difference between Highlanders and
Highland cattle; and if you should happen to meet with any gentleman
who has seen service, and is disposed to speak upon the subject, I
should still imagine that listening to him would do you no sort of harm.
But I have done, and have only once more to recommend this
gentleman to your civility as well as to your custody. Mr. Waverley, I
am truly sorry we should part in this way; but I trust, when you are
again in this country, I may have an opportunity to render Cairnvreckan
more agreeable than circumstances have permitted on this occasion.'
So saying, he shook our hero by the hand. Morton also took an
affectionate farewell, and Waverley, having mounted his horse, with a
musketeer leading it by the bridle and a file upon each side to prevent
his escape, set forward upon the march with Gilfillan and his party.
Through the little village they were accompanied with the shouts of the
children, who cried out, 'Eh! see to the Southland gentleman that's gaun
to be hanged for shooting lang John Mucklewrath, the smith!
CHAPTER VII
AN INCIDENT
The dinner hour of Scotland Sixty Years Since was two o'clock. It was
therefore about four o'clock of a delightful autumn afternoon that Mr.
Gilfillan commenced his march, in hopes, although Stirling was
eighteen miles distant, he might be able, by becoming a borrower of the
night for an hour or two, to reach it that evening. He therefore put forth
his strength, and marched stoutly along at the head of his followers,
eyeing our hero from time to time, as if he longed to enter into
controversy with him. At length, unable to resist the temptation, he
slackened his pace till he was alongside of his prisoner's horse, and
after marching a few steps in silence abreast of him, he suddenly
asked--'Can ye say wha the carle was wi' the black coat and the
mousted head, that was wi' the Laird of Cairnvreckan?'
'A Presbyterian clergyman,' answered Waverley.
'Presbyterian!' answered Gilfillan contemptuously; 'a wretched Erastian,
or rather an obscure Prelatist, a favourer of the black indulgence, ane of
thae dumb dogs that canna bark; they tell ower a clash o' terror and a
clatter o' comfort in their sermons, without ony sense, or savour, or life.
Ye've been fed in siccan a fauld, belike?'
'No; I am of the Church of England,' said Waverley.
'And they're just neighbour-like,' replied the Covenanter; 'and nae
wonder they gree sae weel. Wha wad hae thought the goodly structure
of the Kirk of Scotland, built up by our fathers in 1642, wad hae been
defaced by carnal ends and the corruptions of the time;--ay, wha wad
hae thought the carved work of the sanctuary would hae been sae soon
cut down!'
To this lamentation, which one or two of the assistants chorussed with
a deep groan, our hero thought it unnecessary to make any reply.
Whereupon Mr. Gilfillan, resolving that he should be a hearer at least,
if not a disputant, proceeded in his Jeremiade.
'And now is it wonderful, when, for lack of exercise anent the call to
the service of the altar and the duty of the day, ministers fall into sinful
compliances with patronage, and indemnities, and oaths, and bonds,
and other corruptions,--is it wonderful, I say, that you, sir, and other
sic-like unhappy persons, should labour to build up your auld Babel of
iniquity, as in the bluidy persecuting saint-killing times? I trow, gin ye
werena blinded wi' the graces and favours, and services and enjoyments,
and employments and inheritances, of this wicked world, I could prove
to you, by the Scripture, in what a filthy rag ye put your trust; and that
your surplices, and your copes and vestments, are but cast-off garments
of the muckle harlot that sitteth upon seven hills and drinketh of the
cup of abomination. But, I trow, ye are deaf as adders upon that side of
the head; ay, ye are deceived with her enchantments, and ye traffic with
her merchandise, and ye are drunk with the cup of her fornication!'
How much longer this military theologist might have continued his
invective, in which he spared nobody but the scattered remnant of
HILL-FOLK, as he called them, is absolutely uncertain. His matter was
copious, his voice powerful, and his memory strong; so that there was
little chance of his ending his exhortation till the party had reached
Stirling, had not his attention been attracted by a pedlar who had joined
the march from a cross-road, and who sighed or groaned with great
regularity at all fitting pauses of his homily.
'And what may ye be, friend?' said the Gifted Gilfillan.
'A puir pedlar, that's bound for Stirling, and craves the protection of
your honour's party in these kittle times. Ah' your honour has a notable
faculty in searching and explaining the secret,--ay, the secret and
obscure and incomprehensible causes of the backslidings of the land;
ay, your honour touches the root o' the matter.'
'Friend,' said Gilfillan, with a more complacent voice than he had
hitherto used, 'honour not me. I do not go out to park-dikes and to
steadings and to market-towns to have herds and cottars and burghers
pull off their bonnets to me as they do to Major Melville o'
Cairnvreckan, and ca' me laird or captain or honour. No; my sma'
means, whilk are not aboon twenty thousand merk, have had the
blessing of increase, but the pride of my heart has not increased with
them; nor do I delight to be called captain, though I have the subscribed
commission of that gospel-searching nobleman, the Earl of Glencairn,
fa whilk I am so designated. While I live I am and will be called
Habakkuk Gilfillan, who will stand up for the standards of doctrine
agreed on by the ance famous Kirk of Scotland, before she trafficked
with the accursed Achan, while he has a plack in his purse or a drap o'
bluid in his body.'
'Ah,' said the pedlar, 'I have seen your land about Mauchlin. A fertile
spot! your lines have fallen in pleasant places! And siccan a breed o'
cattle is not in ony laird's land in Scotland.'
'Ye say right,--ye say right, friend' retorted Gilfillan eagerly, for he was
not inaccessible to flattery upon this subject,--'ye say right; they are the
real Lancashire, and there's no the like o' them even at the mains of
Kilmaurs'; and he then entered into a discussion of their excellences, to
which our readers will probably be as indifferent as our hero. After this
excursion the leader returned to his theological discussions, while the
pedlar, less profound upon those mystic points, contented himself with
groaning and expressing his edification at suitable intervals.
'What a blessing it would be to the puir blinded popish nations among
whom I hae sojourned, to have siccan a light to their paths! I hae been
as far as Muscovia in my sma' trading way, as a travelling merchant,
and I hae been through France, and the Low Countries, and a' Poland,
and maist feck o' Germany, and O! it would grieve your honour's soul
to see the murmuring and the singing and massing that's in the kirk, and
the piping that's in the quire, and the heathenish dancing and dicing
upon the Sabbath!'
This set Gilfillan off upon the Book of Sports and the Covenant, and
the Engagers, and the Protesters, and the Whiggamore's Raid, and the
Assembly of Divines at Westminster, and the Longer and Shorter
Catechism, and the Excommunication at Torwood, and the slaughter of
Archbishop Sharp. This last topic, again, led him into the lawfulness of
defensive arms, on which subject he uttered much more sense than
could have been expected from some other parts of his harangue, and
attracted even Waverley's attention, who had hitherto been lost in his
own sad reflections. Mr. Gilfillan then considered the lawfulness of a
private man's standing forth as the avenger of public oppression, and as
he was labouring with great earnestness the cause of Mas James
Mitchell, who fired at the Archbishop of Saint Andrews some years
before the prelate's assassination on Magus Muir, an incident occurred
which interrupted his harangue.
The rays of the sun were lingering on the very verge of the horizon as
the party ascended a hollow and somewhat steep path which led to the
summit of a rising ground. The country was uninclosed, being part of a
very extensive heath or common; but it was far from level, exhibiting
in many places hollows filled with furze and broom; in others, little
dingles of stunted brushwood. A thicket of the latter description
crowned the hill up which the party ascended. The foremost of the band,
being the stoutest and most active, had pushed on, and, having
surmounted the ascent, were out of ken for the present. Gilfillan, with
the pedlar and the small party who were Waverley's more immediate
guard, were near the top of the ascent, and the remainder straggled after
them at a considerable interval.
Such was the situation of matters when the pedlar, missing, as he said,
a little doggie which belonged to him, began to halt and whistle for the
animal. This signal, repeated more than once, gave offence to the rigour
of his companion, the rather because it appeared to indicate inattention
to the treasures of theological and controversial knowledge which were
pouring out for his edification. He therefore signified gruffly that he
could not waste his time in waiting for an useless cur.
'But if your honour wad consider the case of Tobit--'
'Tobit!' exclaimed Gilffflan, with great heat; 'Tobit and his dog baith
are altogether heathenish and apocryphal, and none but a prelatist or a
papist would draw them into question. I doubt I hae been mista'en in
you, friend.'
'Very likely,' answered the pedlar, with great composure; 'but
ne'ertheless, I shall take leave to whistle again upon puir Bawty.'
This last signal was answered in an unexpected manner; for six or eight
stout Highlanders, who lurked among the copse and brushwood, sprung
into the hollow way and began to lay about them with their claymores.
Gilfillan, unappalled at this undesirable apparition, cried out manfully,
'The sword of the Lord and of Gideon!' and, drawing his broadsword,
would probably have done as much credit to the good old cause as any
of its doughty champions at Drumclog, when, behold! the pedlar,
snatching a musket from the person who was next him bestowed the
butt of it with such emphasis on the head of his late instructor in the
Cameronian creed that he was forthwith levelled to the ground. In the
confusion which ensued the horse which bore our hero was shot by one
of Gilfillan's party, as he discharged his firelock at random. Waverley
fell with, and indeed under, the animal, and sustained some severe
contusions. But he was almost instantly extricated from the fallen steed
by two Highlanders, who, each seizing him by the arm, hurried him
away from the scuffle and from the highroad. They ran with great speed,
half supporting and half dragging our hero, who could, however,
distinguish a few dropping shots fired about the spot which he had left.
This, as he afterwards learned, proceeded from Gilfillan's party, who
had now assembled, the stragglers in front and rear having joined the
others. At their approach the Highlanders drew off, but not before they
had rifled Gilfillan and two of his people, who remained on the spot
grievously wounded. A few shots were exchanged betwixt them and the
Westlanders; but the latter, now without a commander, and
apprehensive of a second ambush, did not make any serious effort to
recover their prisoner, judging it more wise to proceed on their journey
to Stirling, carrying with them their wounded captain and comrades.
CHAPTER VIII
WAVERLEY IS STILL IN DISTRESS
The velocity, and indeed violence, with which Waverley was hurried
along nearly deprived him of sensation; for the injury he had received
from his fall prevented him from aiding himself so effectually as he
might otherwise have done. When this was observed by his conductors,
they called to their aid two or three others of the party, and, swathing
our hero's body in one of their plaids, divided his weight by that means
among them, and transported him at the same rapid rate as before,
without any exertion of his own. They spoke little, and that in Gaelic;
and did not slacken their pace till they had run nearly two miles, when
they abated their extreme rapidity, but continued still to walk very fast,
relieving each other occasionally.
Our hero now endeavoured to address them, but was only answered
with 'Cha n'eil Beurl agam' i.e. 'I have no English,' being, as Waverley
well knew, the constant reply of a Highlander when he either does not
understand or does not choose to reply to an Englishman or Lowlander.
He then mentioned the name of Vich lan Vohr, concluding that he was
indebted to his friendship for his rescue from the clutches of Gifted
Gilfillan, but neither did this produce any mark of recognition from his
escort.
The twilight had given place to moonshine when the party halted upon
the brink of a precipitous glen, which, as partly enlightened by the
moonbeams, seemed full of trees and tangled brushwood. Two of the
Highlanders dived into it by a small foot-path, as if to explore its
recesses, and one of them returning in a few minutes, said something to
his companions, who instantly raised their burden and bore him, with
great attention and care, down the narrow and abrupt descent.
Notwithstanding their precautions, however, Waverley's person came
more than once into contact, rudely enough, with the projecting stumps
and branches which overhung the pathway.
At the bottom of the descent, and, as it seemed, by the side of a brook
(for Waverley heard the rushing of a considerable body of water,
although its stream was invisible in the darkness), the party again
stopped before a small and rudely-constructed hovel. The door was
open, and the inside of the premises appeared as uncomfortable and
rude as its situation and exterior foreboded. There was no appearance
of a floor of any kind; the roof seemed rent in several places; the walls
were composed of loose stones and turf, and the thatch of branches of
trees. The fire was in the centre, and filled the whole wigwam with
smoke, which escaped as much through the door as by means of a
circular aperture in the roof. An old Highland sibyl, the only inhabitant
of this forlorn mansion, appeared busy in the preparation of some food.
By the light which the fire afforded Waverley could discover that his
attendants were not of the clan of Ivor, for Fergus was particularly strict
in requiring from his followers that they should wear the tartan striped
in the mode peculiar to their race; a mark of distinction anciently
general through the Highlands, and still maintained by those Chiefs
who were proud of their lineage or jealous of their separate and
exclusive authority.
Edward had lived at Glennaquoich long enough to be aware of a
distinction which he had repeatedly heard noticed, and now satisfied
that he had no interest with, his attendants, he glanced a disconsolate
eye around the interior of the cabin. The only furniture, excepting a
washing-tub and a wooden press, called in Scotland an ambry, sorely
decayed, was a large wooden bed, planked, as is usual, all around, and
opening by a sliding panel. In this recess the Highlanders deposited
Waverley, after he had by signs declined any refreshment. His slumbers
were broken and unrefreshing; strange visions passed before his eyes,
and it required constant and reiterated efforts of mind to dispel them.
Shivering, violent headache, and shooting pains in his limbs succeeded
these symptoms; and in the morning it was evident to his Highland
attendants or guard, for he knew not in which light to consider them,
that Waverley was quite unfit to travel.
After a long consultation among themselves, six of the party left the hut
with their arms, leaving behind an old and a young man. The former
addressed Waverley, and bathed the contusions, which swelling and
livid colour now made conspicuous. His own portmanteau, which the
Highlanders had not failed to bring off, supplied him with linen, and to
his great surprise was, with all its undiminished contents, freely
resigned to his use. The bedding of his couch seemed clean and
comfortable, and his aged attendant closed the door of the bed, for it
had no curtain, after a few words of Gaelic, from which Waverley
gathered that he exhorted him to repose. So behold our hero for a
second time the patient of a Highland Esculapius, but in a situation
much more uncomfortable than when he was the guest of the worthy
Tomanrait.
The symptomatic fever which accompanied the injuries he had
sustained did not abate till the third day, when it gave way to the care
of his attendants and the strength of his constitution, and he could now
raise himself in his bed, though not without pain. He observed,
however, that there was a great disinclination on the part of the old
woman who acted as his nurse, as well as on that of the elderly
Highlander, to permit the door of the bed to be left open, so that he
might amuse himself with observing their motions; and at length, after
Waverley had repeatedly drawn open and they had as frequently shut
the hatchway of his cage, the old gentleman put an end to the contest
by securing it on the outside with a nail so effectually that the door
could not be drawn till this exterior impediment was removed.
While musing upon the cause of this contradictory spirit in persons
whose conduct intimated no purpose of plunder, and who, in all other
points, appeared to consult his welfare and his wishes, it occurred to
our hero that, during the worst crisis of his illness, a female figure,
younger than his old Highland nurse, had appeared to flit around his
couch. Of this, indeed, he had but a very indistinct recollection, but his
suspicions were confirmed when, attentively listening, he often heard,
in the course of the day, the voice of another female conversing in
whispers with his attendant. Who could it be? And why should she
apparently desire concealment? Fancy immediately aroused herself and
turned to Flora Mac-Ivor. But after a short conflict between his eager
desire to believe she was in his neighbourhood, guarding, like an angel
of mercy, the couch of his sickness, Waverley was compelled to
conclude that his conjecture was altogether improbable; since, to
suppose she had left her comparatively safe situation at Glennaquoich
to descend into the Low Country, now the seat of civil war, and to
inhabit such a lurking-place as this, was a thing hardly to be imagined.
Yet his heart bounded as he sometimes could distinctly hear the trip of
a light female step glide to or from the door of the hut, or the
suppressed sounds of a female voice, of softness and delicacy, hold
dialogue with the hoarse inward croak of old Janet, for so he
understood his antiquated attendant was denominated.
Having nothing else to amuse his solitude, he employed himself in
contriving some plan to gratify his curiosity, in despite of the sedulous
caution of Janet and the old Highland janizary, for he had never seen
the young fellow since the first morning. At length, upon accurate
examination, the infirm state of his wooden prison-house appeared to
supply the means of gratifying his curiosity, for out of a spot which was
somewhat decayed he was able to extract a nail. Through this minute
aperture he could perceive a female form, wrapped in a plaid, in the act
of conversing with Janet. But, since the days of our grandmother Eve,
the gratification of inordinate curiosity has generally borne its penalty
in disappointment. The form was not that of Flora, nor was the face
visible; and, to crown his vexation, while he laboured with the nail to
enlarge the hole, that he might obtain a more complete view, a slight
noise betrayed his purpose, and the object of his curiosity instantly
disappeared, nor, so far as he could observe, did she again revisit the
cottage.
All precautions to blockade his view were from that time abandoned,
and he was not only permitted but assisted to rise, and quit what had
been, in a literal sense, his couch of confinement. But he was not
allowed to leave the hut; for the young Highlander had now rejoined
his senior, and one or other was constantly on the watch. Whenever
Waverley approached the cottage dooi the sentinel upon duty civilly,
but resolutely, placed himself against it and opposed his exit,
accompanying his action with signs which seemed to imply there was
danger in the attempt and an enemy in the neighbourhood. Old Janet
appeared anxious and upon the watch; and Waverley, who had not yet
recovered strength enough to attempt to take his departure in spite of
the opposition of his hosts, was under the necessity of remaining
patient His fare was, in every point of view, better than he could have
conceived, for poultry, and even wine, were no strangers to his table.
The Highlanders never presumed to eat with him, and, unless in the
circumstance of watching him, treated him with great respect. His sole
amusement was gazing from the window, or rather the shapeless
aperture which was meant to answer the purpose of a window, upon a
large and rough brook, which raged and foamed through a rocky
channel, closely canopied with trees and bushes, about ten feet beneath
the site of his house of captivity.
Upon the sixth day of his confinement Waverley found himself so well
that he began to meditate his escape from this dull and miserable
prison-house, thinking any risk which he might incur in the attempt
preferable to the stupefying and intolerable uniformity of Janet's
retirement. The question indeed occurred, whither he was to direct his
course when again at his own disposal. Two schemes seemed
practicable, yet both attended with danger and difficulty. One was to go
back to Glennaquoich and join Fergus Mac-Ivor, by whom he was sure
to be kindly received; and in the present state of his mind, the rigour
with which he had been treated fully absolved him, in his own eyes,
from his allegiance to the existing government. The other project was
to endeavour to attain a Scottish seaport, and thence to take shipping
for England. His mind wavered between these plans, and probably, if
he had effected his escape in the manner he proposed, he would have
been finally determined by the comparative facility by which either
might have been executed. But his fortune had settled that he was not to
be left to his option.
Upon the evening of the seventh day the door of the hut suddenly
opened, and two Highlanders entered, whom Waverley recognised as
having been a part of his original escort to this cottage. They conversed
for a short time with the old man and his companion, and then made
Waverley understand, by very significant signs, that he was to prepare
to accompany them. This was a joyful communication. What had
already passed during his confinement made it evident that no personal
injury was designed to him; and his romantic spirit, having recovered
during his repose much of that elasticity which anxiety, resentment,
disappointment, and the mixture of unpleasant feelings excited by his
late adventures had for a time subjugated, was now wearied with
inaction. His passion for the wonderful, although it is the nature of such
dispositions to be excited by that degree of danger which merely gives
dignity to the feeling of the individual exposed to it, had sunk under the
extraordinary and apparently insurmountable evils by which he
appeared environed at Cairnvreckan. In fact, this compound of intense
curiosity and exalted imagination forms a peculiar species of courage,
which somewhat resembles the light usually carried by a
miner--sufficiently competent, indeed, to afford him guidance and
comfort during the ordinary perils of his labour, but certain to be
extinguished should he encounter the more formidable hazard of earth
damps or pestiferous vapours. It was now, however, once more
rekindled, and with a throbbing mixture of hope, awe, and anxiety,
Waverley watched the group before him, as those who were just arrived
snatched a hasty meal, and the others assumed their arms and made
brief preparations for their departure.
As he sat in the smoky hut, at some distance from the fire, around
which the others were crowded, he felt a gentle pressure upon his arm.
He looked round; it was Alice, the daughter of Donald Bean Lean. She
showed him a packet of papers in such a manner that the motion was
remarked by no one else, put her finger for a second to her lips, and
passed on, as if to assist old Janet in packing Waverley's clothes in his
portmanteau. It was obviously her wish that he should not seem to
recognise her, yet she repeatedly looked back at him, as an opportunity
occurred of doing so unobserved, and when she saw that he remarked
what she did, she folded the packet with great address and speed in one
of his shirts, which she deposited in the portmanteau.
Here then was fresh food for conjecture. Was Alice his unknown
warden, and was this maiden of the cavern the tutelar genius that
watched his bed during his sickness? Was he in the hands of her father?
and if so, what was his purpose? Spoil, his usual object, seemed in this
case neglected; for not only Waverley's property was restored, but his
purse, which might have tempted this professional plunderer, had been
all along suffered to remain in his possession. All this perhaps the
packet might explain; but it was plain from Alice's manner that she
desired he should consult it in secret. Nor did she again seek his eye
after she had satisfied herself that her manoeuvre was observed and
understood. On the contrary, she shortly afterwards left the hut, and it
was only as she tript out from the door, that, favoured by the obscurity,
she gave Waverley a parting smile and nod of significance ere she
vanished in the dark glen.
The young Highlander was repeatedly despatched by his comrades as if
to collect intelligence. At length, when he had returned for the third or
fourth time, the whole party arose and made signs to our hero to
accompany them. Before his departure, however, he shook hands with
old Janet, who had been so sedulous in his behalf, and added
substantial marks of his gratitude for her attendance.
'God bless you! God prosper you, Captain Waverley!' said Janet, in
good Lowland Scotch, though he had never hithero heard her utter a
syllable, save in Gaelic. But the impatience of his attendants prohibited
his asking any explanation.
CHAPTER IX
A NOCTURNAL ADVENTURE
There was a moment's pause when the whole party had got out of the
hut; and the Highlander who assumed the command, and who, in
Waverley's awakened recollection, seemed to be the same tall figure
who had acted as Donald Bean Lean's lieutenant, by whispers and signs
imposed the strictest silence. He delivered to Edward a sword and steel
pistol, and, pointing up the track, laid his hand on the hilt of his own
claymore, as if to make him sensible they might have occasion to use
force to make good their passage. He then placed himself at the head of
the party, who moved up the pathway in single or Indian file, Waverley
being placed nearest to their leader. He moved with great precaution, as
if to avoid giving any alarm, and halted as soon as he came to the verge
of the ascent. Waverley was soon sensible of the reason, for he heard at
no great distance an English sentinel call out 'All's well.' The heavy
sound sunk on the night-wind down the woody glen, and was answered
by the echoes of its banks. A second, third, and fourth time the signal
was repeated fainter and fainter, as if at a greater and greater distance.
It was obvious that a party of soldiers were near, and upon their guard,
though not sufficiently so to detect men skilful in every art of predatory
warfare, like those with whom he now watched their ineffectual
precautions.
When these sounds had died upon the silence of the night, the
Highlanders began their march swiftly, yet with the most cautious
silence. Waverley had little time, or indeed disposition, for observation,
and could only discern that they passed at some distance from a large
building, in the windows of which a light or two yet seemed to twinkle.
A little farther on the leading Highlander snuffed the wind like a setting
spaniel, and then made a signal to his party again to halt. He stooped
down upon all fours, wrapped up in his plaid, so as to be scarce
distinguishable from the heathy ground on which he moved, and
advanced in this posture to reconnoitre. In a short time he returned, and
dismissed his attendants excepting one; and, intimating to Waverley
that he must imitate his cautious mode of proceeding, all three crept
forward on hands and knees.
After proceeding a greater way in this inconvenient manner than was at
all comfortable to his knees and shins, Waverley perceived the smell of
smoke, which probably had been much sooner distinguished by the
more acute nasal organs of his guide. It proceeded from the corner of a
low and ruinous sheep-fold, the walls of which were made of loose
stones, as is usual in Scotland. Close by this low wall the Highlander
guided Waverley, and, in order probably to make him sensible of his
danger, or perhaps to obtain the full credit of his own dexterity, he
intimated to him, by sign and example, that he might raise his head so
as to peep into the sheep-fold. Waverley did so, and beheld an outpost
of four or five soldiers lying by their watch-fire. They were all asleep
except the sentinel, who paced backwards and forwards with his
firelock on his shoulder, which glanced red in the light of the fire as he
crossed and re-crossed before it in his short walk, casting his eye
frequently to that part of the heavens from which the moon, hitherto
obscured by mist, seemed now about to make her appearance.
In the course of a minute or two, by one of those sudden changes of
atmosphere incident to a mountainous country, a breeze arose and
swept before it the clouds which had covered the horizon, and the night
planet poured her full effulgence upon a wide and blighted heath,
skirted indeed with copse-wood and stunted trees in the quarter from
which they had come, but open and bare to the observation of the
sentinel in that to which their course tended. The wall of the sheep-fold
indeed concealed them as they lay, but any advance beyond its shelter
seemed impossible without certain discovery.
The Highlander eyed the blue vault, but far from blessing the useful
light with Homer's, or rather Pope's benighted peasant, he muttered a
Gaelic curse upon the unseasonable splendour of MacFarlane's buat (i.e.
lantern) [Footnote: See Note 26]. He looked anxiously around for a few
minutes, and then apparently took his resolution. Leaving his attendant
with Waverley, after motioning to Edward to remain quiet, and giving
his comrade directions in a brief whisper, he retreated, favoured by the
irregularity of the ground, in the same direction and in the same manner
as they had advanced. Edward, turning his head after him, could
perceive him crawling on all fours with the dexterity of an Indian,
availing himself of every bush and inequality to escape observation,
and never passing over the more exposed parts of his track until the
sentinel's back was turned from him. At length he reached the thickets
and underwood which partly covered the moor in that direction, and
probably extended to the verge of the glen where Waverley had been so
long an inhabitant. The Highlander disappeared, but it was only for a
few minutes, for he suddenly issued forth from a different part of the
thicket, and, advancing boldly upon the open heath as if to invite
discovery, he levelled his piece and fired at the sentinel. A wound in
the arm proved a disagreeable interruption to the poor fellow's
meteorological observations, as well as to the tune of 'Nancy Dawson,'
which he was whistling. He returned the fire ineffectually, and his
comrades, starting up at the alarm, advanced alertly towards the spot
from which the first shot had issued. The Highlander, after giving them
a full view of his person, dived among the thickets, for his ruse de
guerre had now perfectly succeeded.
While the soldiers pursued the cause of their disturbance in one
direction, Waverley, adopting the hint of his remaining attendant, made
the best of his speed in that which his guide originally intended to
pursue, and which now (the attention of the soldiers being drawn to a
different quarter) was unobserved and unguarded. When they had run
about a quarter of a mile, the brow of a rising ground which they had
surmounted concealed them from further risk of observation. They still
heard, however, at a distance the shouts of the soldiers as they hallooed
to each other upon the heath, and they could also hear the distant roll of
a drum beating to arms in the same direction. But these hostile sounds
were now far in their rear, and died away upon the breeze as they
rapidly proceeded.
When they had walked about half an hour, still along open and waste
ground of the same description, they came to the stump of an ancient
oak, which, from its relics, appeared to have been at one time a tree of
very large size. In an adjacent hollow they found several Highlanders,
with a horse or two. They had not joined them above a few minutes,
which Waverley's attendant employed, in all probability, in
communicating the cause of their delay (for the words 'Duncan Duroch'
were often repeated), when Duncan himself appeared, out of breath
indeed, and with all the symptoms of having run for his life, but
laughing, and in high spirits at the success of the stratagem by which he
had baffled his pursuers. This indeed Waverley could easily conceive
might be a matter of no great difficulty to the active mountaineer, who
was perfectly acquainted with the ground, and traced his course with a
firmness and confidence to which his pursuers must have been
strangers. The alarm which he excited seemed still to continue, for a
dropping shot or two were heard at a great distance, which seemed to
serve as an addition to the mirth of Duncan and his comrades.
The mountaineer now resumed the arms with which he had entrusted
our hero, giving him to understand that the dangers of the journey were
happily surmounted. Waverley was then mounted upon one of the
horses, a change which the fatigue of the night and his recent illness
rendered exceedingly acceptable. His portmanteau was placed on
another pony, Duncan mounted a third, and they set forward at a round
pace, accompanied by their escort. No other incident marked the course
of that night's journey, and at the dawn of morning they attained the
banks of a rapid river. The country around was at once fertile and
romantic. Steep banks of wood were broken by corn-fields, which this
year presented an abundant harvest, already in a great measure cut
down.
On the opposite bank of the river, and partly surrounded by a winding
of its stream, stood a large and massive castle, the half-ruined turrets of
which were already glittering in the first rays of the sun. [Footnote: See
Note 27.] It was in form an oblong square, of size sufficient to contain
a large court in the centre. The towers at each angle of the square rose
higher than the walls of the building, and were in their turn surmounted
by turrets, differing in height and irregular in shape. Upon one of these
a sentinel watched, whose bonnet and plaid, streaming in the wind,
declared him to be a Highlander, as a broad white ensign, which floated
from another tower, announced that the garrison was held by the
insurgent adherents of the House of Stuart.
Passing hastily through a small and mean town, where their appearance
excited neither surprise nor curiosity in the few peasants whom the
labours of the harvest began to summon from their repose, the party
crossed an ancient and narrow bridge of several arches, and, turning to
the left up an avenue of huge old sycamores, Waverley found himself
in front of the gloomy yet picturesque structure which he had admired
at a distance. A huge iron-grated door, which formed the exterior
defence of the gateway, was already thrown back to receive them; and a
second, heavily constructed of oak and studded thickly with iron nails,
being next opened, admitted them into the interior court-yard. A
gentleman, dressed in the Highland garb and having a white cockade in
his bonnet, assisted Waverley to dismount from his horse, and with
much courtesy bid him welcome to the castle.
The governor, for so we must term him, having conducted Waverley to
a half-ruinous apartment, where, however, there was a small camp-bed,
and having offered him any refreshment which he desired, was then
about to leave him.
'Will you not add to your civilities,' said Waverley, after having made
the usual acknowledgment, 'by having the kindness to inform me where
I am, and whether or not I am to consider myself as a prisoner?'
'I am not at liberty to be so explicit upon this subject as I could wish.
Briefly, however, you are in the Castle of Doune, in the district of
Menteith, and in no danger whatever.'
'And how am I assured of that?'
'By the honour of Donald Stewart, governor of the garrison, and
lieutenant-colonel in the service of his Royal Highness Prince Charles
Edward.' So saying, he hastily left the apartment, as if to avoid further
discussion.
Exhausted by the fatigues of the night, our hero now threw himself
upon the bed, and was in a few minutes fast asleep.
CHAPTER X
THE JOURNEY IS CONTINUED
Before Waverley awakened from his repose, the day was far advanced,
and he began to feel that he had passed many hours without food. This
was soon supplied in form of a copious breakfast, but Colonel Stewart,
as if wishing to avoid the queries of his guest, did not again present
himself. His compliments were, however, delivered by a servant, with
an offer to provide anything in his power that could be useful to
Captain Waverley on his journey, which he intimated would be
continued that evening. To Waverley's further inquiries, the servant
opposed the impenetrable barrier of real or affected ignorance and
stupidity. He removed the table and provisions, and Waverley was
again consigned to his own meditations.
As he contemplated the strangeness of his fortune, which seemed to
delight in placing him at the disposal of others, without the power of
directing his own motions, Edward's eye suddenly rested upon his
portmanteau, which had been deposited in his apartment during his
sleep. The mysterious appearance of Alice in the cottage of the glen
immediately rushed upon his mind, and he was about to secure and
examine the packet which she had deposited among his clothes, when
the servant of Colonel Stewart again made his appearance, and took up
the portmanteau upon his shoulders.
'May I not take out a change of linen, my friend?'
'Your honour sall get ane o' the Colonel's ain ruffled sarks, but this
maun gang in the baggage-cart.'
And so saying, he very coolly carried off the portmanteau, without
waiting further remonstrance, leaving our hero in a state where
disappointment and indignation struggled for the mastery. In a few
minutes he heard a cart rumble out of the rugged court-yard, and made
no doubt that he was now dispossessed, for a space at least, if not for
ever, of the only documents which seemed to promise some light upon
the dubious events which had of late influenced his destiny. With such
melancholy thoughts he had to beguile about four or five hours of
solitude.
When this space was elapsed, the trampling of horse was heard in the
court-yard, and Colonel Stewart soon after made his appearance to
request his guest to take some further refreshment before his departure.
The offer was accepted, for a late breakfast had by no means left our
hero incapable of doing honour to dinner, which was now presented.
The conversation of his host was that of a plain country gentleman,
mixed with some soldier-like sentiments and expressions. He
cautiously avoided any reference to the military operations or civil
politics of the time; and to Waverley's direct inquiries concerning some
of these points replied, that he was not at liberty to speak upon such
topics.
When dinner was finished the governor arose, and, wishing Edward a
good journey, said that, having been informed by Waverley's servant
that his baggage had been sent forward, he had taken the freedom to
supply him with such changes of linen as he might find necessary till
he was again possessed of his own. With this compliment he
disappeared. A servant acquainted Waverley an instant afterwards that
his horse was ready.
Upon this hint he descended into the court-yard, and found a trooper
holding a saddled horse, on which he mounted and sallied from the
portal of Doune Castle, attended by about a score of armed men on
horseback. These had less the appearance of regular soldiers than of
individuals who had suddenly assumed arms from some pressing
motive of unexpected emergency. Their uniform, which was blue and
red, an affected imitation of that of French chasseurs, was in many
respects incomplete, and sate awkwardly upon those who wore it.
Waverley's eye, accustomed to look at a well-disciplined regiment,
could easily discover that the motions and habits of his escort were not
those of trained soldiers, and that, although expert enough in the
management of their horses, their skill was that of huntsmen or grooms
rather than of troopers. The horses were not trained to the regular pace
so necessary to execute simultaneous and combined movements and
formations; nor did they seem bitted (as it is technically expressed) for
the use of the sword. The men, however, were stout, hardy-looking
fellows, and might be individually formidable as irregular cavalry. The
commander of this small party was mounted upon an excellent hunter,
and, although dressed in uniform, his change of apparel did not prevent
Waverley from recognising his old acquaintance, Mr. Falconer of
Balmawhapple.
Now, although the terms upon which Edward had parted with this
gentleman were none of the most friendly, he would have sacrificed
every recollection of their foolish quarrel for the pleasure of enjoying
once more the social intercourse of question and answer, from which he
had been so long secluded. But apparently the remembrance of his
defeat by the Baron of Bradwardine, of which Edward had been the
unwilling cause, still rankled in the mind of the low-bred and yet proud
laird. He carefully avoided giving the least sign of recognition, riding
doggedly at the head of his men, who, though scarce equal in numbers
to a sergeant's party, were denominated Captain Falconer's troop, being
preceded by a trumpet, which sounded from time to time, and a
standard, borne by Cornet Falconer, the laird's younger brother. The
lieutenant, an elderly man, had much the air of a low sportsman and
boon companion; an expression of dry humour predominated in his
countenance over features of a vulgar cast, which indicated habitual
intemperance. His cocked hat was set knowingly upon one side of his
head, and while he whistled the 'Bob of Dumblain,' under the influence
of half a mutchkin of brandy, he seemed to trot merrily forward, with a
happy indifference to the state of the country, the conduct of the party,
the end of the journey, and all other sublunary matters whatever.
From this wight, who now and then dropped alongside of his horse,
Waverley hoped to acquire some information, or at least to beguile the
way with talk.
'A fine evening, sir,' was Edward's salutation.
'Ow, ay, sir! a bra' night,' replied the lieutenant, in broad Scotch of the
most vulgar description.
'And a fine harvest, apparently,' continued Waverley, following up his
first attack.
'Ay, the aits will be got bravely in; but the farmers, deil burst them, and
the corn-mongers will make the auld price gude against them as has
horses till keep.'
'You perhaps act as quartermaster, sir?'
'Ay, quartermaster, riding-master, and lieutenant,' answered this officer
of all work. 'And, to be sure, wha's fitter to look after the breaking and
the keeping of the poor beasts than mysell, that bought and sold every
ane o' them?'
'And pray, sir, if it be not too great a freedom, may I beg to know
where we are going just now?'
'A fule's errand, I fear,' answered this communicative personage.
'In that case,' said Waverley, determined not to spare civility, 'I should
have thought a person of your appearance would not have been found
on the road.'
'Vera true, vera true, sir,' replied the officer, 'but every why has its
wherefore. Ye maun ken, the laird there bought a' thir beasts frae me to
munt his troop, and agreed to pay for them according to the necessities
and prices of the time. But then he hadna the ready penny, and I hae
been advised his bond will not be worth a boddle against the estate, and
then I had a' my dealers to settle wi' at Martinmas; and so, as he very
kindly offered me this commission, and as the auld Fifteen [Footnote:
The Judges of the Supreme Court of Session in Scotland are
proverbially termed among the country people, The Fifteen.] wad never
help me to my siller for sending out naigs against the government, why,
conscience! sir, I thought my best chance for payment was e'en to GAE
OUT [Footnote: See Note 28.] mysell; and ye may judge, sir, as I hae
dealt a' my life in halters, I think na mickle o' putting my craig in peril
of a Saint John-stone's tippet.'
'You are not, then, by profession a soldier?' said Waverley.
'Na, na; thank God,' answered this doughty partizan, 'I wasna bred at
sae short a tether, I was brought up to hack and manger. I was bred a
horse-couper, sir; and if I might live to see you at Whitson-tryst, or at
Stagshawbank, or the winter fair at Hawick, and ye wanted a spanker
that would lead the field, I'se be caution I would serve ye easy; for
Jamie Jinker was ne'er the lad to impose upon a gentleman. Ye're a
gentleman, sir, and should ken a horse's points; ye see that
through--ganging thing that Balmawhapple's on; I selled her till him.
She was bred out of Lick-the-ladle, that wan the king's plate at
Caverton-Edge, by Duke Hamilton's White-Foot,' etc., etc., etc.
But as Jinker was entered full sail upon the pedigree of
Balmawhapple's mare, having already got as far as great-grandsire and
great-grand-dam, and while Waverley was watching for an opportunity
to obtain from him intelligence of more interest, the noble captain
checked his horse until they came up, and then, without directly
appearing to notice Edward, said sternly to the genealogist, 'I thought,
lieutenant, my orders were preceese, that no one should speak to the
prisoner?'
The metamorphosed horse-dealer was silenced of course, and slunk to
the rear, where he consoled himself by entering into a vehement dispute
upon the price of hay with a farmer who had reluctantly followed his
laird to the field rather than give up his farm, whereof the lease had just
expired. Waverley was therefore once more consigned to silence,
foreseeing that further attempts at conversation with any of the party
would only give Balmawhapple a wished-for opportunity to display the
insolence of authority, and the sulky spite of a temper naturally dogged,
and rendered more so by habits of low indulgence and the incense of
servile adulation.
In about two hours' time the party were near the Castle of Stirling, over
whose battlements the union flag was brightened as it waved in the
evening sun. To shorten his journey, or perhaps to display his
importance and insult the English garrison, Balmawhapple, inclining to
the right, took his route through the royal park, which reaches to and
surrounds the rock upon which the fortress is situated.
With a mind more at ease Waverley could not have failed to admire the
mixture of romance and beauty which renders interesting the scene
through which he was now passing--the field which had been the scene
of the tournaments of old--the rock from which the ladies beheld the
contest, while each made vows for the success of some favourite
knight--the towers of the Gothic church, where these vows might be
paid--and, surmounting all, the fortress itself, at once a castle and
palace, where valour received the prize from royalty, and knights and
dames closed the evening amid the revelry of the dance, the song, and
the feast. All these were objects fitted to arouse and interest a romantic
imagination.
But Waverley had other objects of meditation, and an incident soon
occurred of a nature to disturb meditation of any kind. Balmawhapple,
in the pride of his heart, as he wheeled his little body of cavalry round
the base of the Castle, commanded his trumpet to sound a flourish and
his standard to be displayed. This insult produced apparently some
sensation; for when the cavalcade was at such distance from the
southern battery as to admit of a gun being depressed so as to bear upon
them, a flash of fire issued from one of the embrazures upon the rock;
and ere the report with which it was attended could be heard, the
rushing sound of a cannon-ball passed over Balmawhapple's head, and
the bullet, burying itself in the ground at a few yards' distance, covered
him with the earth which it drove up. There was no need to bid the
party trudge. In fact, every man, acting upon the impulse of the
moment, soon brought Mr. Jinker's steeds to show their mettle, and the
cavaliers, retreating with more speed than regularity, never took to a
trot, as the lieutenant afterwards observed, until an intervening
eminence had secured them from any repetition of so undesirable a
compliment on the part of Stirling Castle. I must do Balmawhapple,
however, the justice to say that he not only kept the rear of his troop,
and laboured to maintain some order among them, but, in the height of
his gallantry, answered the fire of the Castle by discharging one of his
horse-pistols at the battlements; although, the distance being nearly half
a mile, I could never learn that this measure of retaliation was attended
with any particular effect.
The travellers now passed the memorable field of Bannockburn and
reached the Torwood, a place glorious or terrible to the recollections of
the Scottish peasant, as the feats of Wallace or the cruelties of Wude
Willie Grime predominate in his recollection. At Falkirk, a town
formerly famous in Scottish history, and soon to be again distinguished
as the scene of military events of importance, Balmawhapple proposed
to halt and repose for the evening. This was performed with very little
regard to military discipline, his worthy quarter-master being chiefly
solicitous to discover where the best brandy might be come at.
Sentinels were deemed unnecessary, and the only vigils performed
were those of such of the party as could procure liquor. A few resolute
men might easily have cut off the detachment; but of the inhabitants
some were favourable, many indifferent, and the rest overawed. So
nothing memorable occurred in the course of the evening, except that
Waverley's rest was sorely interrupted by the revellers hallooing forth
their Jacobite songs, without remorse or mitigation of voice.
Early in the morning they were again mounted and on the road to
Edinburgh, though the pallid visages of some of the troop betrayed that
they had spent a night of sleepless debauchery. They halted at
Linlithgow, distinguished by its ancient palace, which Sixty Years
Since was entire and habitable, and whose venerable ruins, NOT
QUITE SIXTY YEARS SINCE, very narrowly escaped the unworthy
fate of being converted into a barrack for French prisoners. May repose
and blessings attend the ashes of the patriotic statesman who, amongst
his last services to Scotland, interposed to prevent this profanation!
As they approached the metropolis of Scotland, through a champaign
and cultivated country, the sounds of war began to be heard. The
distant yet distinct report of heavy cannon, fired at intervals, apprized
Waverley that the work of destruction was going forward. Even
Balmawhapple seemed moved to take some precautions, by sending an
advanced party in front of his troop, keeping the main body in tolerable
order, and moving steadily forward.
Marching in this manner they speedily reached an eminence, from
which they could view Edinburgh stretching along the ridgy hill which
slopes eastward from the Castle. The latter, being in a state of siege, or
rather of blockade, by the northern insurgents, who had already
occupied the town for two or three days, fired at intervals upon such
parties of Highlanders as exposed themselves, either on the main street
or elsewhere in the vicinity of the fortress. The morning being calm and
fair, the effect of this dropping fire was to invest the Castle in wreaths
of smoke, the edges of which dissipated slowly in the air, while the
central veil was darkened ever and anon by fresh clouds poured forth
from the battlements; the whole giving, by the partial concealment, an
appearance of grandeur and gloom, rendered more terrific when
Waverley reflected on the cause by which it was produced, and that
each explosion might ring some brave man's knell.
Ere they approached the city the partial cannonade had wholly ceased.
Balmawhapple, however, having in his recollection the unfriendly
greeting which his troop had received from the battery at Stirling, had
apparently no wish to tempt the forbearance of the artillery of the
Castle. He therefore left the direct road, and, sweeping considerably to
the southward so as to keep out of the range of the cannon, approached
the ancient palace of Holyrood without having entered the walls of the
city. He then drew up his men in front of that venerable pile, and
delivered Waverley to the custody of a guard of Highlanders, whose
officer conducted him into the interior of the building.
A long, low, and ill-proportioned gallery, hung with pictures, affirmed
to be the portraits of kings, who, if they ever flourished at all, lived
several hundred years before the invention of painting in oil colours,
served as a sort of guard chamber or vestibule to the apartments which
the adventurous Charles Edward now occupied in the palace of his
ancestors. Officers, both in the Highland and Lowland garb, passed and
repassed in haste, or loitered in the hall as if waiting for orders.
Secretaries were engaged in making out passes, musters, and returns.
All seemed busy, and earnestly intent upon something of importance;
but Waverley was suffered to remain seated in the recess of a window,
unnoticed by any one, in anxious reflection upon the crisis of his fate,
which seemed now rapidly approaching.
CHAPTER XI
AN OLD AND A NEW ACQUAINTANCE
While he was deep sunk in his reverie, the rustle of tartans was heard
behind him, a friendly arm clasped his shoulders, and a friendly voice
exclaimed,
'Said the Highland prophet sooth? Or must second-sight go for
nothing?'
Waverley turned, and was warmly embraced by Fergus Mac-Ivor. 'A
thousand welcomes to Holyrood, once more possessed by her
legitimate sovereign! Did I not say we should prosper, and that you
would fall into the hands of the Philistines if you parted from us?'
'Dear Fergus!' said Waverley, eagerly returning his greeting. 'It is long
since I have heard a friend's voice. Where is Flora?'
'Safe, and a triumphant spectator of our success.'
'In this place?' said Waverley.
'Ay, in this city at least,' answered his friend, 'and you shall see her; but
first you must meet a friend whom you little think of, who has been
frequent in his inquiries after you.'
Thus saying, he dragged Waverley by the arm out of the guard chamber,
and, ere he knew where he was conducted, Edward found himself in a
presence room, fitted up with some attempt at royal state.
A young man, wearing his own fair hair, distinguished by the dignity of
his mien and the noble expression of his well-formed and regular
features, advanced out of a circle of military gentlemen and Highland
chiefs by whom he was surrounded. In his easy and graceful manners
Waverley afterwards thought he could have discovered his high birth
and rank, although the star on his breast and the embroidered garter at
his knee had not appeared as its indications.
'Let me present to your Royal Highness,' said Fergus, bowing
profoundly-'The descendant of one of the most ancient and loyal families in
England,' said the young Chevalier, interrupting him. 'I beg your
pardon for interrupting you, my dear Mac-Ivor; but no master of
ceremonies is necessary to present a Waverley to a Stuart.'
Thus saying, he extended his hand to Edward with the utmost courtesy,
who could not, had he desired it, have avoided rendering him the
homage which seemed due to his rank, and was certainly the right of
his birth. 'I am sorry to understand, Mr. Waverley, that, owing to
circumstances which have been as yet but ill explained, you have
suffered some restraint among my followers in Perthshire and on your
march here; but we are in such a situation that we hardly know our
friends, and I am even at this moment uncertain whether I can have the
pleasure of considering Mr. Waverley as among mine.'
He then paused for an instant; but before Edward could adjust a
suitable reply, or even arrange his ideas as to its purport, the Prince
took out a paper and then proceeded:--'I should indeed have no doubts
upon this subject if I could trust to this proclamation, set forth by the
friends of the Elector of Hanover, in which they rank Mr. Waverley
among the nobility and gentry who are menaced with the pains of
high-treason for loyalty to their legitimate sovereign. But I desire to
gain no adherents save from affection and conviction; and if Mr.
Waverley inclines to prosecute his journey to the south, or to join the
forces of the Elector, he shall have my passport and free permission to
do so; and I can only regret that my present power will not extend to
protect him against the probable consequences of such a measure. But,'
continued Charles Edward, after another short pause, 'if Mr. Waverley
should, like his ancestor, Sir Nigel, determine to embrace a cause
which has little to recommend it but its justice, and follow a prince who
throws himself upon the affections of his people to recover the throne
of his ancestors or perish in the attempt, I can only say, that among
these nobles and gentlemen he will find worthy associates in a gallant
enterprise, and will follow a master who may be unfortunate, but, I
trust, will never be ungrateful.'
The politic Chieftain of the race of Ivor knew his advantage in
introducing Waverley to this personal interview with the royal
adventurer. Unaccustomed to the address and manners of a polished
court, in which Charles was eminently skilful, his words and his
kindness penetrated the heart of our hero, and easily outweighed all
prudential motives. To be thus personally solicited for assistance by a
prince whose form and manners, as well as the spirit which he
displayed in this singular enterprise, answered his ideas of a hero of
romance; to be courted by him in the ancient halls of his paternal palace,
recovered by the sword which he was already bending towards other
conquests, gave Edward, in his own eyes, the dignity and importance
which he had ceased to consider as his attributes. Rejected, slandered,
and threatened upon the one side, he was irresistibly attracted to the
cause which the prejudices of education and the political principles of
his family had already recommended as the most just. These thoughts
rushed through his mind like a torrent, sweeping before them every
consideration of an opposite tendency,--the time, besides, admitted of
no deliberation,--and Waverley, kneeling to Charles Edward, devoted
his heart and sword to the vindication of his rights!
The Prince (for, although unfortunate in the faults and follies of his
forefathers, we shall here and elsewhere give him the title due to his
birth) raised Waverley from the ground and embraced him with an
expression of thanks too warm not to be genuine. He also thanked
Fergus Mac-Ivor repeatedly for having brought him such an adherent,
and presented Waverley to the various noblemen, chieftains, and
officers who were about his person as a young gentleman of the highest
hopes and prospects, in whose bold and enthusiastic avowal of his
cause they might see an evidence of the sentiments of the English
families of rank at this important crisis. [Footnote: See Note 29.]
Indeed, this was a point much doubted among the adherents of the
house of Stuart; and as a well-founded disbelief in the cooperation of
the English Jacobites kept many Scottish men of rank from his standard,
and diminished the courage of those who had joined it, nothing could
be more seasonable for the Chevalier than the open declaration in his
favour of the representative of the house of Waverley-Honour, so long
known as Cavaliers and Royalists. This Fergus had foreseen from the
beginning. He really loved Waverley, because their feelings and
projects never thwarted each other; he hoped to see him united with
Flora, and he rejoiced that they were effectually engaged in the same
cause. But, as we before hinted, he also exulted as a politician in
beholding secured to his party a partizan of such consequence; and he
was far from being insensible to the personal importance which he
himself gained with the Prince from having so materially assisted in
making the acquisition.
Charles Edward, on his part, seemed eager to show his attendants the
value which he attached to his new adherent, by entering immediately,
as in confidence, upon the circumstances of his situation. 'You have
been secluded so much from intelligence, Mr. Waverley, from causes
of which I am but indistinctly informed, that I presume you are even
yet unacquainted with the important particulars of my present situation.
You have, however, heard of my landing in the remote district of
Moidart, with only seven attendants, and of the numerous chiefs and
clans whose loyal enthusiasm at once placed a solitary adventurer at the
head of a gallant army. You must also, I think, have learned that the
commander-in-chief of the Hanoverian Elector, Sir John Cope,
marched into the Highlands at the head of a numerous and
well-appointed military force with the intention of giving us battle, but
that his courage failed him when we were within three hours' march of
each other, so that he fairly gave us the slip and marched northward to
Aberdeen, leaving the Low Country open and undefended. Not to lose
so favourable an opportunity, I marched on to this metropolis, driving
before me two regiments of horse, Gardiner's and Hamilton's, who had
threatened to cut to pieces every Highlander that should venture to pass
Stirling; and while discussions were carrying forward among the
magistracy and citizens of Edinburgh whether they should defend
themselves or surrender, my good friend Lochiel (laying his hand on
the shoulder of that gallant and accomplished chieftain) saved them the
trouble of farther deliberation by entering the gates with five hundred
Camerons. Thus far, therefore, we have done well; but, in the
meanwhile, this doughty general's nerves being braced by the keen air
of Aberdeen, he has taken shipping for Dunbar, and I have just received
certain information that he landed there yesterday. His purpose must
unquestionably be to march towards us to recover possession of the
capital. Now there are two opinions in my council of war: one, that
being inferior probably in numbers, and certainly in discipline and
military appointments, not to mention our total want of artillery and the
weakness of our cavalry, it will be safest to fall back towards the
mountains, and there protract the war until fresh succours arrive from
France, and the whole body of the Highland clans shall have taken arms
in our favour. The opposite opinion maintains, that a retrograde
movement, in our circumstances, is certain to throw utter discredit on
our arms and undertaking; and, far from gaining us new partizans, will
be the means of disheartening those who have joined our standard. The
officers who use these last arguments, among whom is your friend
Fergus Mac-Ivor, maintain that, if the Highlanders are strangers to the
usual military discipline of Europe, the soldiers whom they are to
encounter are no less strangers to their peculiar and formidable mode of
attack; that the attachment and courage of the chiefs and gentlemen are
not to be doubted; and that, as they will be in the midst of the enemy,
their clansmen will as surely follow them; in fine, that having drawn
the sword we should throw away the scabbard, and trust our cause to
battle and to the God of battles. Will Mr. Waverley favour us with his
opinion in these arduous circumstances?'
Waverley coloured high betwixt pleasure and modesty at the distinction
implied in this question, and answered, with equal spirit and readiness,
that he could not venture to offer an opinion as derived from military
skill, but that the counsel would be far the most acceptable to him
which should first afford him an opportunity to evince his zeal in his
Royal Highness's service.
'Spoken like a Waverley!' answered Charles Edward; 'and that you may
hold a rank in some degree corresponding to your name, allow me,
instead of the captain's commission which you have lost, to offer you
the brevet rank of major in my service, with the advantage of acting as
one of my aides-de-camp until you can be attached to a regiment, of
which I hope several will be speedily embodied.'
'Your Royal Highness will forgive me,' answered Waverley (for his
recollection turned to Balmawhapple and his scanty troop), 'if I decline
accepting any rank until the time and place where I may have interest
enough to raise a sufficient body of men to make my command useful
to your Royal Highness's service. In the meanwhile, I hope for your
permission to serve as a volunteer under my friend Fergus Mac-Ivor.'
'At least,' said the Prince, who was obviously pleased with this proposal,
'allow me the pleasure of arming you after the Highland fashion.' With
these words, he unbuckled the broadsword which he wore, the belt of
which was plaited with silver, and the steel basket-hilt richly and
curiously inlaid. 'The blade,' said the Prince, 'is a genuine Andrea
Ferrara; it has been a sort of heirloom in our family; but I am convinced
I put it into better hands than my own, and will add to it pistols of the
same workmanship. Colonel Mac-Ivor, you must have much to say to
your friend; I will detain you no longer from your private conversation;
but remember we expect you both to attend us in the evening. It may be
perhaps the last night we may enjoy in these halls, and as we go to the
field with a clear conscience, we will spend the eve of battle merrily.'
Thus licensed, the Chief and Waverley left the presence-chamber.
CHAPTER XII
THE MYSTERY BEGINS TO BE CLEARED UP
'How do you like him?' was Fergus's first question, as they descended
the large stone staircase.
'A prince to live and die under' was Waverley's enthusiastic answer.
'I knew you would think so when you saw him, and I intended you
should have met earlier, but was prevented by your sprain. And yet he
has his foibles, or rather he has difficult cards to play, and his Irish
officers, [Footnote: See Note 30.] who are much about him, are but
sorry advisers: they cannot discriminate among the numerous
pretensions that are set up. Would you think it--I have been obliged for
the present to suppress an earl's patent, granted for services rendered
ten years ago, for fear of exciting the jealousy, forsooth, of C----and
M----? But you were very right, Edward, to refuse the situation of
aide-de-camp. There are two vacant, indeed, but Clanronald and
Lochiel, and almost all of us, have requested one for young
Aberchallader, and the Lowlanders and the Irish party are equally
desirous to have the other for the master of F--. Now, if either of these
candidates were to be superseded in your favour, you would make
enemies. And then I am surprised that the Prince should have offered
you a majority, when he knows very well that nothing short of
lieutenant-colonel will satisfy others, who cannot bring one hundred
and fifty men to the field. "But patience, cousin, and shuffle the cards!"
It is all very well for the present, and we must have you properly
equipped for the evening in your new costume; for, to say truth, your
outward man is scarce fit for a court.'
'Why,' said Waverley, looking at his soiled dress,'my shooting jacket
has seen service since we parted; but that probably you, my friend,
know as well or better than I.'
'You do my second-sight too much honour,' said Fergus. 'We were so
busy, first with the scheme of giving battle to Cope, and afterwards
with our operations in the Lowlands, that I could only give general
directions to such of our people as were left in Perthshire to respect and
protect you, should you come in their way. But let me hear the full
story of your adventures, for they have reached us in a very partial and
mutilated manner.'
Waverley then detailed at length the circumstances with which the
reader is already acquainted, to which Fergus listened with great
attention. By this time they had reached the door of his quarters, which
he had taken up in a small paved court, retiring from the street called
the Canongate, at the house of a buxom widow of forty, who seemed to
smile very graciously upon the handsome young Chief, she being a
person with whom good looks and good-humour were sure to secure an
interest, whatever might be the party's "political opinions". Here
Callum Beg received them with a smile of recognition. 'Callum,' said
the Chief, 'call Shemus an Snachad' (James of the Needle). This was the
hereditary tailor of Vich lan Vohr. 'Shemus, Mr. Waverley is to wear
the cath dath (battle colour, or tartan); his trews must be ready in four
hours. You know the measure of a well-made man--two double nails to
the small of the leg--'
'Eleven from haunch to heel, seven round the waist. I give your honour
leave to hang Shemus, if there's a pair of sheers in the Highlands that
has a baulder sneck than her's ain at the cumadh an truais' (shape of the
trews).
'Get a plaid of Mac-Ivor tartan and sash,' continued the Chieftain, 'and a
blue bonnet of the Prince's pattern, at Mr. Mouat's in the Crames. My
short green coat, with silver lace and silver buttons, will fit him exactly,
and I have never worn it. Tell Ensign Maccombich to pick out a
handsome target from among mine. The Prince has given Mr. Waverley
broadsword and pistols, I will furnish him with a dirk and purse; add
but a pair of low-heeled shoes, and then, my dear Edward (turning to
him), you will be a complete son of Ivor.'
These necessary directions given, the Chieftain resumed the subject of
Waverley's adventures. 'It is plain,' he said,'that you have been in the
custody of Donald Bean Lean. You must know that, when I marched
away my clan to join the Prince, I laid my injunctions on that worthy
member of society to perform a certain piece of service, which done, he
was to join me with all the force he could muster. But, instead of doing
so, the gentleman, finding the coast clear, thought it better to make war
on his own account, and has scoured the country, plundering, I believe,
both friend and foe, under pretence of levying blackmail, sometimes as
if by my authority, and sometimes (and be cursed to his consummate
impudence) in his own great name! Upon my honour, if I live to see the
cairn of Benmore again, I shall be tempted to hang that fellow! I
recognise his hand particularly in the mode of your rescue from that
canting rascal Gilfillan, and I have little doubt that Donald himself
played the part of the pedlar on that occasion; but how he should not
have plundered you, or put you to ransom, or availed himself in some
way or other of your captivity for his own advantage, passes my
judgment.'
'When and how did you hear the intelligence of my confinement?'
asked Waverley.
'The Prince himself told me,' said Fergus, 'and inquired very minutely
into your history. He then mentioned your being at that moment in the
power of one of our northern parties--you know I could not ask him to
explain particulars--and requested my opinion about disposing of you. I
recommended that you should be brought here as a prisoner, because I
did not wish to prejudice you farther with the English government, in
case you pursued your purpose of going southward. I knew nothing,
you must recollect, of the charge brought against you of aiding and
abetting high treason, which, I presume, had some share in changing
your original plan. That sullen, good-for-nothing brute, Balmawhapple,
was sent to escort you from Doune, with what he calls his troop of
horse. As to his behaviour, in addition to his natural antipathy to
everything that resembles a gentleman, I presume his adventure with
Bradwardine rankles in his recollection, the rather that I daresay his
mode of telling that story contributed to the evil reports which reached
your quondam regiment.'
'Very likely,' said Waverley; 'but now surely, my dear Fergus, you may
find time to tell me something of Flora.'
'Why,' replied Fergus, 'I can only tell you that she is well, and residing
for the present with a relation in this city. I thought it better she should
come here, as since our success a good many ladies of rank attend our
military court; and I assure you that there is a sort of consequence
annexed to the near relative of such a person as Flora Mac-Ivor, and
where there is such a justling of claims and requests, a man must use
every fair means to enhance his importance.'
There was something in this last sentence which grated on Waverley's
feelings. He could not bear that Flora should be considered as
conducing to her brother's preferment by the admiration which she
must unquestionably attract; and although it was in strict
correspondence with many points of Fergus's character, it shocked him
as selfish, and unworthy of his sister's high mind and his own
independent pride. Fergus, to whom such manoeuvres were familiar, as
to one brought up at the French court, did not observe the unfavourable
impression which he had unwarily made upon his friend's mind, and
concluded by saying,' that they could hardly see Flora before the
evening, when she would be at the concert and ball with which the
Prince's party were to be entertained. She and I had a quarrel about her
not appearing to take leave of you. I am unwilling to renew it by
soliciting her to receive you this morning; and perhaps my doing so
might not only be ineffectual, but prevent your meeting this evening.'
While thus conversing, Waverley heard in the court, before the
windows of the parlour, a well-known voice. 'I aver to you, my worthy
friend,' said the speaker, 'that it is a total dereliction of military
discipline; and were you not as it were a tyro, your purpose would
deserve strong reprobation. For a prisoner of war is on no account to be
coerced with fetters, or debinded in ergastulo, as would have been the
case had you put this gentleman into the pit of the peel-house at
Balmawhapple. I grant, indeed, that such a prisoner may for security be
coerced in carcere, that is, in a public prison.'
The growling voice of Balmawhapple was heard as taking leave in
displeasure, but the word 'land-louper' alone was distinctly audible. He
had disappeared before Waverley reached the house in order to greet
the worthy Baron of Bradwardine. The uniform in which he was now
attired, a blue coat, namely, with gold lace, a scarlet waistcoat and
breeches, and immense jack-boots, seemed to have added fresh
stiffness and rigidity to his tall, perpendicular figure; and the
consciousness of military command and authority had increased, in the
same proportion, the self-importance of his demeanour and the
dogmatism of his conversation.
He received Waverley with his usual kindness, and expressed
immediate anxiety to hear an explanation of the circumstances
attending the loss of his commission in Gardiner's dragoons; 'not,' he
said, 'that he had the least apprehension of his young friend having
done aught which could merit such ungenerous treatment as he had
received from government, but because it was right and seemly that the
Baron of Bradwardine should be, in point of trust and in point of power,
fully able to refute all calumnies against the heir of Waverley-Honour,
whom he had so much right to regard as his own son.'
Fergus Mac-Ivor, who had now joined them, went hastily over the
circumstances of Waverley's story, and concluded with the flattering
reception he had met from the young Chevalier. The Baron listened in
silence, and at the conclusion shook Waverley heartily by the hand and
congratulated him upon entering the service of his lawful Prince. 'For,'
continued he, 'although it has been justly held in all nations a matter of
scandal and dishonour to infringe the sacramentum militare, and that
whether it was taken by each soldier singly, whilk the Romans
denominated per conjurationem, or by one soldier in name of the rest,
yet no one ever doubted that the allegiance so sworn was discharged by
the dimissio, or discharging of a soldier, whose case would be as hard
as that of colliers, salters, and other adscripti glebes, or slaves of the
soil, were it to be accounted otherwise. This is something like the
brocard expressed by the learned Sanchez in his work "De
Jure-jurando" which you have questionless consulted upon this
occasion. As for those who have calumniated you by leasing-making, I
protest to Heaven I think they have justly incurred the penalty of the
"Memnonia Lex," also called "Lex Rhemnia," which is prelected upon
by Tullius in his oration "In Verrem." I should have deemed, however,
Mr. Waverley, that before destining yourself to any special service in
the army of the Prince, ye might have inquired what rank the old
Bradwardine held there, and whether he would not have been peculiarly
happy to have had your services in the regiment of horse which he is
now about to levy.' Edward eluded this reproach by pleading the
necessity of giving an immediate answer to the Prince's proposal, and
his uncertainty at the moment whether his friend the Baron was with
the army or engaged upon service elsewhere.
This punctilio being settled, Waverley made inquiry after Miss
Bradwardine, and was informed she had come to Edinburgh with Flora
Mac-Ivor, under guard of a party of the Chieftain's men. This step was
indeed necessary, Tully-Veolan having become a very unpleasant, and
even dangerous, place of residence for an unprotected young lady, on
account of its vicinity to the Highlands, and also to one or two large
villages which, from aversion as much to the caterans as zeal for
presbytery, had declared themselves on the side of government, and
formed irregular bodies of partizans, who had frequent skirmishes with
the mountaineers, and sometimes attacked the houses of the Jacobite
gentry in the braes, or frontier betwixt the mountain and plain.
'I would propose to you,' continued the Baron,'to walk as far as my
quarters in the Luckenbooths, and to admire in your passage the High
Street, whilk is, beyond a shadow of dubitation, finer than any street
whether in London or Paris. But Rose, poor thing, is sorely
discomposed with the firing of the Castle, though I have proved to her
from Blondel and Coehorn, that it is impossible a bullet can reach these
buildings; and, besides, I have it in charge from his Royal Highness to
go to the camp, or leaguer of our army, to see that the men do
condamare vasa, that is, truss up their bag and baggage for tomorrow's
march.'
'That will be easily done by most of us,' said Mac-Ivor, laughing.
'Craving your pardon, Colonel Mac-Ivor, not quite so easily as ye seem
to opine. I grant most of your folk left the Highlands expedited as it
were, and free from the incumbrance of baggage; but it is unspeakable
the quantity of useless sprechery which they have collected on their
march. I saw one fellow of yours (craving your pardon once more) with
a pier-glass upon his back.'
'Ay,' said Fergus, still in good-humour, 'he would have told you, if you
had questioned him, "a ganging foot is aye getting." But come, my dear
Baron, you know as well as I that a hundred Uhlans, or a single troop
of Schmirschitz's Pandours, would make more havoc in a country than
the knight of the mirror and all the rest of our clans put together.'
'And that is very true likewise,' replied the Baron; 'they are, as the
heathen author says, ferociores in aspectu, mitiores in actu, of a horrid
and grim visage, but more benign in demeanour than their
physiognomy or aspect might infer. But I stand here talking to you two
youngsters when I should be in the King's Park.'
'But you will dine with Waverley and me on your return? I assure you,
Baron, though I can live like a Highlander when needs must, I
remember my Paris education, and understand perfectly faire la
meilleure chere.'
'And wha the deil doubts it,' quoth the Baron, laughing, 'when ye bring
only the cookery and the gude toun must furnish the materials? Weel, I
have some business in the toun too; but I'll join you at three, if the
vivers can tarry so long.'
So saying, he took leave of his friends and went to look after the charge
which had been assigned him.
CHAPTER XIII
A SOLDIER'S DINNER
James of the Needle was a man of his word when whisky was no party
to the contract; and upon this occasion Callum Beg, who still thought
himself in Waverley's debt, since he had declined accepting
compensation at the expense of mine host of the Candlestick's person,
took the opportunity of discharging the obligation, by mounting guard
over the hereditary tailor of Sliochd nan Ivor; and, as he expressed
himself, 'targed him tightly' till the finishing of the job. To rid himself
of this restraint, Shemus's needle flew through the tartan like lightning;
and as the artist kept chanting some dreadful skirmish of Fin Macoul,
he accomplished at least three stitches to the death of every hero. The
dress was, therefore, soon ready, for the short coat fitted the wearer,
and the rest of the apparel required little adjustment.
Our hero having now fairly assumed the 'garb of old Gaul,' well
calculated as it was to give an appearance of strength to a figure which,
though tall and well-made, was rather elegant than robust, I hope my
fair readers will excuse him if he looked at himself in the mirror more
than once, and could not help acknowledging that the reflection seemed
that of a very handsome young fellow. In fact, there was no disguising
it. His light-brown hair--for he wore no periwig, notwithstanding the
universal fashion of the time--became the bonnet which surmounted it.
His person promised firmness and agility, to which the ample folds of
the tartan added an air of dignity. His blue eye seemed of that kind,
Which melted in love, and which kindled in war;
and an air of bashfulness, which was in reality the effect of want of
habitual intercourse with the world, gave interest to his features,
without injuring their grace or intelligence.
'He's a pratty man, a very pratty man,' said Evan Dhu (now Ensign
Maccombich) to Fergus's buxom landlady.
'He's vera weel,' said the Widow Flockhart, 'but no naething sae
weel-far'd as your colonel, ensign.'
'I wasna comparing them,' quoth Evan, 'nor was I speaking about his
being weel-favoured; but only that Mr. Waverley looks clean-made and
deliver, and like a proper lad o' his quarters, that will not cry barley in a
brulzie. And, indeed, he's gleg aneuch at the broadsword and target. I
hae played wi' him mysell at Glennaquoich, and sae has Vich lan Vohr,
often of a Sunday afternoon.'
'Lord forgie ye, Ensign Maccombich,' said the alarmed Presbyterian;
'I'm sure the colonel wad never do the like o' that!'
'Hout! hout! Mrs. Flockhart,' replied the ensign, 'we're young blude, ye
ken; and young saints, auld deils.'
'But will ye fight wi' Sir John Cope the morn, Ensign Maccombich?'
demanded Mrs. Flockhart of her guest.
'Troth I'se ensure him, an he'll bide us, Mrs. Flockhart,' replied the
Gael.
'And will ye face thae tearing chields, the dragoons, Ensign
Maccombich?' again inquired the landlady.
'Claw for claw, as Conan said to Satan, Mrs. Flockhart, and the deevil
tak the shortest nails.'
'And will the colonel venture on the bagganets himsell?'
'Ye may swear it, Mrs. Flockhart; the very first man will he be, by Saint
Phedar.'
'Merciful goodness! and if he's killed amang the redcoats!' exclaimed
the soft-hearted widow.
'Troth, if it should sae befall, Mrs. Flockhart, I ken ane that will no be
living to weep for him. But we maun a' live the day, and have our
dinner; and there's Vich lan Vohr has packed his dorlach, and Mr.
Waverley's wearied wi' majoring yonder afore the muckle pier-glass;
and that grey auld stoor carle, the Baron o' Bradwardine that shot
young Ronald of Ballenkeiroch, he's coming down the close wi' that
droghling coghling bailie body they ca' Macwhupple, just like the Laird
o' Kittlegab's French cook, wi' his turnspit doggie trindling ahint him,
and I am as hungry as a gled, my bonny dow; sae bid Kate set on the
broo', and do ye put on your pinners, for ye ken Vich lan Vohr winna
sit down till ye be at the head o' the table;--and dinna forget the pint
bottle o' brandy, my woman.'
This hint produced dinner. Mrs. Flockhart, smiling in her weeds like
the sun through a mist, took the head of the table, thinking within
herself, perhaps, that she cared not how long the rebellion lasted that
brought her into company so much above her usual associates. She was
supported by Waverley and the Baron, with the advantage of the
Chieftain vis-a-vis. The men of peace and of war, that is, Bailie
Macwheeble and Ensign Maccombich, after many profound conges to
their superiors and each other, took their places on each side of the
Chieftain. Their fare was excellent, time, place, and circumstances
considered, and Fergus's spirits were extravagantly high. Regardless of
danger, and sanguine from temper, youth, and ambition, he saw in
imagination all his prospects crowned with success, and was totally
indifferent to the probable alternative of a soldier's grave. The Baron
apologized slightly for bringing Macwheeble. They had been providing,
he said, for the expenses of the campaign. 'And, by my faith,' said the
old man, 'as I think this will be my last, so I just end where I began: I
hae evermore found the sinews of war, as a learned author calls the
caisse mttitaire, mair difficult to come by than either its flesh, blood, or
bones.'
'What! have you raised our only efficient body of cavalry and got ye
none of the louis-d'or out of the Doutelle [Footnote: The Doutelle was
an armed vessel which brought a small supply of money and arms from
France for the use of the insurgents.] to help you?'
'No, Glennaquoich; cleverer fellows have been before me.'
'That's a scandal,' said the young Highlander; 'but you will share what is
left of my subsidy; it will save you an anxious thought tonight, and will
be all one tomorrow, for we shall all be provided for, one way or other,
before the sun sets.' Waverley, blushing deeply, but with great
earnestness, pressed the same request.
'I thank ye baith, my good lads,' said the Baron, 'but I will not infringe
upon your peculium. Bailie Macwheeble has provided the sum which is
necessary.'
Here the Bailie shifted and fidgeted about in his seat, and appeared
extremely uneasy. At length, after several preliminary hems, and much
tautological expression of his devotion to his honour's service, by night
or day, living or dead, he began to insinuate, 'that the banks had
removed a' their ready cash into the Castle; that, nae doubt, Sandie
Goldie, the silversmith, would do mickle for his honour; but there was
little time to get the wadset made out; and, doubtless, if his honour
Glennaquoich or Mr. Wauverley could accommodate--'
'Let me hear of no such nonsense, sir,' said the Baron, in a tone which
rendered Macwheeble mute, 'but proceed as we accorded before dinner,
if it be your wish to remain in my service.'
To this peremptory order the Bailie, though he felt as if condemned to
suffer a transfusion of blood from his own veins into those of the Baron,
did not presume to make any reply. After fidgeting a little while longer,
however, he addressed himself to Glennaquoich, and told him, if his
honour had mair ready siller than was sufficient for his occasions in the
field, he could put it out at use for his honour in safe hands and at great
profit at this time.
At this proposal Fergus laughed heartily, and answered, when he had
recovered his breath--'Many thanks, Bailie; but you must know, it is a
general custom among us soldiers to make our landlady our banker.
Here, Mrs. Flockhart,' said he, taking four or five broad pieces out of a
well-filled purse and tossing the purse itself, with its remaining
contents, into her apron, 'these will serve my occasions; do you take the
rest. Be my banker if I live, and my executor if I die; but take care to
give something to the Highland cailliachs [Footnote: Old women, on
whom devolved the duty of lamenting for the dead, which the Irish call
keening.] that shall cry the coronach loudest for the last Vich lan Vohr.'
'It is the testamentum militare,' quoth the Baron, 'whilk, amang the
Romans, was privilegiate to be nuncupative.' But the soft heart of Mrs.
Flockhart was melted within her at the Chieftain's speech; she set up a
lamentable blubbering, and positively refused to touch the bequest,
which Fergus was therefore obliged to resume.
'Well, then,' said the Chief, 'if I fall, it will go to the grenadier that
knocks my brains out, and I shall take care he works hard for it.'
Bailie Macwheeble was again tempted to put in his oar; for where cash
was concerned he did not willingly remain silent. 'Perhaps he had better
carry the gowd to Miss Mac-Ivor, in case of mortality or accidents of
war. It might tak the form of a mortis causa donation in the young
leddie's favour, and--wad cost but the scrape of a pen to mak it out.'
'The young lady,' said Fergus,'should such an event happen, will have
other matters to think of than these wretched louis-d'or.'
'True--undeniable--there's nae doubt o' that; but your honour kens that a
full sorrow--'
'Is endurable by most folk more easily than a hungry one? True, Bailie,
very true; and I believe there may even be some who would be
consoled by such a reflection for the loss of the whole existing
generation. But there is a sorrow which knows neither hunger nor thirst;
and poor Flora--' He paused, and the whole company sympathised in
his emotion.
The Baron's thoughts naturally reverted to the unprotected state of his
daughter, and the big tear came to the veteran's eye. 'If I fall,
Macwheeble, you have all my papers and know all my affairs; be just
to Rose.'
The Bailie was a man of earthly mould, after all; a good deal of dirt and
dross about him, undoubtedly, but some kindly and just feelings he had,
especially where the Baron or his young mistress were concerned. He
set up a lamentable howl. 'If that doleful day should come, while
Duncan Macwheeble had a boddle it should be Miss Rose's. He wald
scroll for a plack the sheet or she kenn'd what it was to want; if indeed
a' the bonnie baronie o' Bradwardine and Tully-Veolan, with the
fortalice and manor-place thereof (he kept sobbing and whining at
every pause), tofts, crofts, mosses, muirs--outfield,
infield--buildings--orchards--dove- cots--with the right of net and coble
in the water and loch of Veolan-- teinds, parsonage and
vicarage--annexis, connexis--rights of pasturage-- feul, feal and
divot--parts, pendicles, and pertinents whatsoever--(here he had
recourse to the end of his long cravat to wipe his eyes, which
overflowed, in spite of him, at the ideas which this technical jargon
conjured up)--all as more fully described in the proper evidents and
titles thereof--and lying within the parish of Bradwardine and the shire
of Perth--if, as aforesaid, they must a' pass from my master's child to
Inch-Grabbit, wha's a Whig and a Hanoverian, and be managed by his
doer, Jamie Howie, wha's no fit to be a birlieman, let be a bailie--'
The beginning of this lamentation really had something affecting, but
the conclusion rendered laughter irresistible. 'Never mind, Bailie,' said
Ensign Maccombich, 'for the gude auld times of rugging and riving
(pulling and tearing) are come back again, an' Sneckus Mac-Snackus
(meaning, probably, annexis, connexis), and a' the rest of your friends,
maun gie place to the langest claymore.'
'And that claymore shall be ours, Bailie,' said the Chieftain, who saw
that Macwheeble looked very blank at this intimation. 'We'll give them
the metal our mountain affords, Lillibulero, bullen a la, And in place of
broad-pieces, we'll pay with broadswords, Lero, lero, etc. With duns
and with debts we will soon clear our score, Lillibulero, etc. For the
man that's thus paid will crave payment no more, Lero, lero, etc.
[Footnote: These lines, or something like them, occur in an old
magazine of the period.]
But come, Bailie, be not cast down; drink your wine with a joyous
heart; the Baron shall return safe and victorious to Tully-Veolan, and
unite Killancureit's lairdship with his own, since the cowardly half-bred
swine will not turn out for the Prince like a gentleman.'
'To be sure, they lie maist ewest,' said the Bailie, wiping his eyes, 'and
should naturally fa' under the same factory.'
'And I,' proceeded the Chieftain,'shall take care of myself, too; for you
must know, I have to complete a good work here, by bringing Mrs.
Flockhart into the bosom of the Catholic church, or at least half way,
and that is to your Episcopal meeting-house. O Baron! if you heard her
fine counter-tenor admonishing Kate and Matty in the morning, you,
who understand music, would tremble at the idea of hearing her shriek
in the psalmody of Haddo's Hole.'
'Lord forgie you, colonel, how ye rin on! But I hope your honours will
tak tea before ye gang to the palace, and I maun gang and mask it for
you.'
So saying, Mrs. Flockhart left the gentlemen to their own conversation,
which, as might be supposed, turned chiefly upon the approaching
events of the campaign.
CHAPTER XIV
THE BALL
Ensign MacCombich having gone to the Highland camp upon duty, and
Bailie Macwheeble having retired to digest his dinner and Evan Dhu's
intimation of martial law in some blind change-house, Waverley, with
the Baron and the Chieftain, proceeded to Holyrood House. The two
last were in full tide of spirits, and the Baron rallied in his way our hero
upon the handsome figure which his new dress displayed to advantage.
'If you have any design upon the heart of a bonny Scotch lassie, I
would premonish you, when you address her, to remember and quote
the words of Virgilius:-Nunc insanus amor duri me Martis in armis, Tela inter media atque
adversos detinet hostes;
whilk verses Robertson of Struan, Chief of the Clan Donnochy (unless
the claims of Lude ought to be preferred primo loco), has thus elegantly
rendered:-For cruel love had gartan'd low my leg, And clad my hurdies in a
philabeg.
Although, indeed, ye wear the trews, a garment whilk I approve maist
of the twa, as mair ancient and seemly.' 'Or rather,' said Fergus, 'hear
my song:-She wadna hae a Lowland laird, Nor be an English lady; But she's away
with Duncan Grame, And he's row'd her in his plaidy.'
By this time they reached the palace of Holyrood, and were announced
respectively as they entered the apartments.
It is but too well known how many gentlemen of rank, education, and
fortune took a concern in the ill-fated and desperate undertaking of
1745. The ladies, also, of Scotland very generally espoused the cause of
the gallant and handsome young Prince, who threw himself upon the
mercy of his countrymen rather like a hero of romance than a
calculating politician. It is not, therefore, to be wondered that Edward,
who had spent the greater part of his life in the solemn seclusion of
Waverley-Honour, should have been dazzled at the liveliness and
elegance of the scene now exhibited in the long deserted halls of the
Scottish palace. The accompaniments, indeed, fell short of splendour,
being such as the confusion and hurry of the time admitted; still,
however, the general effect was striking, and, the rank of the company
considered, might well be called brilliant.
It was not long before the lover's eye discovered the object of his
attachment. Flora Mac-Ivor was in the act of returning to her seat, near
the top of the room, with Rose Bradwardine by her side. Among much
elegance and beauty, they had attracted a great degree of the public
attention, being certainly two of the handsomest women present. The
Prince took much notice of both, particularly of Flora, with whom he
danced, a preference which she probably owed to her foreign education
and command of the French and Italian languages.
When the bustle attending the conclusion of the dance permitted,
Edward almost intuitively followed Fergus to the place where Miss
Mac-Ivor was seated. The sensation of hope with which he had nursed
his affection in absence of the beloved object seemed to vanish in her
presence, and, like one striving to recover the particulars of a forgotten
dream, he would have given the world at that moment to have
recollected the grounds on which he had founded expectations which
now seemed so delusive. He accompanied Fergus with downcast eyes,
tingling ears, and the feelings of the criminal who, while the
melancholy cart moves slowly through the crowds that have assembled
to behold his execution, receives no clear sensation either from the
noise which fills his ears or the tumult on which he casts his wandering
look. Flora seemed a little--a very little--affected and discomposed at
his approach. 'I bring you an adopted son of Ivor,' said Fergus.
'And I receive him as a second brother,' replied Flora.
There was a slight emphasis on the word, which would have escaped
every ear but one that was feverish with apprehension. It was, however,
distinctly marked, and, combined with her whole tone and manner,
plainly intimated, 'I will never think of Mr. Waverley as a more
intimate connexion.' Edward stopped, bowed, and looked at Fergus,
who bit his lip, a movement of anger which proved that he also had put
a sinister interpretation on the reception which his sister had given his
friend. 'This, then, is an end of my day-dream!' Such was Waverley's
first thought, and it was so exquisitely painful as to banish from his
cheek every drop of blood.
'Good God!' said Rose Bradwardine, 'he is not yet recovered!'
These words, which she uttered with great emotion, were overheard by
the Chevalier himself, who stepped hastily forward, and, taking
Waverley by the hand, inquired kindly after his health, and added that
he wished to speak with him. By a strong and sudden effort; which the
circumstances rendered indispensable, Waverley recovered himself so
far as to follow the Chevalier in silence to a recess in the apartment.
Here the Prince detained him some time, asking various questions
about the great Tory and Catholic families of England, their connexions,
their influence, and the state of their affections towards the house of
Stuart. To these queries Edward could not at any time have given more
than general answers, and it may be supposed that, in the present state
of his feelings, his responses were indistinct even to confusion. The
Chevalier smiled once or twice at the incongruity of his replies, but
continued the same style of conversation, although he found himself
obliged to occupy the principal share of it, until he perceived that
Waverley had recovered his presence of mind. It is probable that this
long audience was partly meant to further the idea which the Prince
desired should be entertained among his followers, that Waverley was a
character of political influence. But it appeared, from his concluding
expressions, that he had a different and good-natured motive, personal
to our hero, for prolonging the conference. 'I cannot resist the
temptation,' he said, 'of boasting of my own discretion as a lady's
confidant. You see, Mr. Waverley, that I know all, and I assure you I
am deeply interested in the affair. But, my good young friend, you must
put a more severe restraint upon your feelings. There are many here
whose eyes can see as clearly as mine, but the prudence of whose
tongues may not be equally trusted,'
So saying, he turned easily away and joined a circle of officers at a few
paces' distance, leaving Waverley to meditate upon his parting
expression, which, though not intelligible to him in its whole purport,
was sufficiently so in the caution which the last word recommended.
Making, therefore, an effort to show himself worthy of the interest
which his new master had expressed, by instant obedience to his
recommendation, he walked up to the spot where Flora and Miss
Bradwardine were still seated, and having made his compliments to the
latter, he succeeded, even beyond his own expectation, in entering into
conversation upon general topics.
If, my dear reader, thou hast ever happened to take post-horses at----or
at----(one at least of which blanks, or more probably both, you will be
able to fill up from an inn near your own residence), you must have
observed, and doubtless with sympathetic pain, the reluctant agony
with which the poor jades at first apply their galled necks to the collars
of the harness. But when the irresistible arguments of the post-boy have
prevailed upon them to proceed a mile or two, they will become callous
to the first sensation; and being warm in the harness, as the said
post-boy may term it, proceed as if their withers were altogether
unwrung. This simile so much corresponds with the state of Waverley's
feelings in the course of this memorable evening, that I prefer it
(especially as being, I trust, wholly original) to any more splendid
illustration with which Byshe's 'Art of Poetry' might supply me.
Exertion, like virtue, is its own reward; and our hero had, moreover,
other stimulating motives for persevering in a display of affected
composure and indifference to Flora's obvious unkindness. Pride,
which supplies its caustic as an useful, though severe, remedy for the
wounds of affection, came rapidly to his aid. Distinguished by the
favour of a prince; destined, he had room to hope, to play a
conspicuous part in the revolution which awaited a mighty kingdom;
excelling, probably, in mental acquirements, and equalling at least in
personal accomplishments, most of the noble and distinguished persons
with whom he was now ranked; young, wealthy, and high-born,--could
he, or ought he, to droop beneath the frown of a capricious beauty?
O nymph, unrelenting and cold as thou art, My bosom is proud as thine
own.
With the feeling expressed in these beautiful lines (which, however,
were not then written), [Footnote: They occur in Miss Seward's fine
verses, beginning--'To thy rocks, stormy Lannow, adieu.'] Waverley
determined upon convincing Flora that he was not to be depressed by a
rejection in which his vanity whispered that perhaps she did her own
prospects as much injustice as his. And, to aid this change of feeling,
there lurked the secret and unacknowledged hope that she might learn
to prize his affection more highly, when she did not conceive it to be
altogether within her own choice to attract or repulse it. There was a
mystic tone of encouragement, also, in the Chevalier's words, though
he feared they only referred to the wishes of Fergus in favour of an
union between him and his sister. But the whole circumstances of time,
place, and incident combined at once to awaken his imagination and to
call upon him for a manly and decisive tone of conduct, leaving to fate
to dispose of the issue. Should he appear to be the only one sad and
disheartened on the eve of battle, how greedily would the tale be
commented upon by the slander which had been already but too busy
with his fame! Never, never, he internally resolved, shall my
unprovoked enemies possess such an advantage over my reputation.
Under the influence of these mixed sensations, and cheered at times by
a smile of intelligence and approbation from the Prince as he passed the
group, Waverley exerted his powers of fancy, animation, and eloquence,
and attracted the general admiration of the company. The conversation
gradually assumed the tone best qualified for the display of his talents
and acquisitions. The gaiety of the evening was exalted in character,
rather than checked, by the approaching dangers of the morrow. All
nerves were strung for the future, and prepared to enjoy the present.
This mood of mind is highly favourable for the exercise of the powers
of imagination, for poetry, and for that eloquence which is allied to
poetry. Waverley, as we have elsewhere observed, possessed at times a
wonderful flow of rhetoric; and on the present occasion, he touched
more than once the higher notes of feeling, and then again ran off in a
wild voluntary of fanciful mirth. He was supported and excited by
kindred spirits, who felt the same impulse of mood and time; and even
those of more cold and calculating habits were hurried along by the
torrent. Many ladies declined the dance, which still went forward, and
under various pretences joined the party to which the 'handsome young
Englishman' seemed to have attached himself. He was presented to
several of the first rank, and his manners, which for the present were
altogether free from the bashful restraint by which, in a moment of less
excitation, they were usually clouded, gave universal delight.
Flora Mac-Ivor appeared to be the only female present who regarded
him with a degree of coldness and reserve; yet even she could not
suppress a sort of wonder at talents which, in the course of their
acquaintance, she had never seen displayed with equal brilliancy and
impressive effect. I do not know whether she might not feel a
momentary regret at having taken so decisive a resolution upon the
addresses of a lover who seemed fitted so well to fill a high place in the
highest stations of society. Certainly she had hitherto accounted among
the incurable deficiencies of Edward's disposition the mauvaise honte
which, as she had been educated in the first foreign circles, and was
little acquainted with the shyness of English manners, was in her
opinion too nearly related to timidity and imbecility of disposition. But
if a passing wish occurred that Waverley could have rendered himself
uniformly thus amiable and attractive, its influence was momentary; for
circumstances had arisen since they met which rendered in her eyes the
resolution she had formed respecting him final and irrevocable.
With opposite feelings Rose Bradwardine bent her whole soul to listen.
She felt a secret triumph at the public tribute paid to one whose merit
she had learned to prize too early and too fondly. Without a thought of
jealousy, without a feeling of fear, pain, or doubt, and undisturbed by a
single selfish consideration, she resigned herself to the pleasure of
observing the general murmur of applause. When Waverley spoke, her
ear was exclusively filled with his voice, when others answered, her
eye took its turn of observation, and seemed to watch his reply. Perhaps
the delight which she experienced in the course of that evening, though
transient, and followed by much sorrow, was in its nature the most pure
and disinterested which the human mind is capable of enjoying.
'Baron,' said the Chevalier, 'I would not trust my mistress in the
company of your young friend. He is really, though perhaps somewhat
romantic, one of the most fascinating young men whom I have ever
seen.'
'And by my honour, sir,' replied the Baron,'the lad can sometimes be as
dowff as a sexagenary like myself. If your Royal Highness had seen
him dreaming and dozing about the banks of Tully-Veolan like an
hypochondriac person, or, as Burton's "Anatomia" hath it, a phrenesiac
or lethargic patient, you would wonder where he hath sae suddenly
acquired all this fine sprack festivity and jocularity.'
'Truly,' said Fergus Mac-Ivor, 'I think it can only be the inspiration of
the tartans; for, though Waverley be always a young fellow of sense
and honour, I have hitherto often found him a very absent and
inattentive companion.'
'We are the more obliged to him,' said the Prince, 'for having reserved
for this evening qualities which even such intimate friends had not
discovered. But come, gentlemen, the night advances, and the business
of tomorrow must be early thought upon. Each take charge of his fair
partner, and honour a small refreshment with your company.'
He led the way to another suite of apartments, and assumed the seat and
canopy at the head of a long range of tables with an air of dignity,
mingled with courtesy, which well became his high birth and lofty
pretensions. An hour had hardly flown away when the musicians
played the signal for parting so well known in Scotland. [Footnote:
Which is, or was wont to be, the old air of 'Good-night and joy be wi'
you a'.]
'Good-night, then,' said the Chevalier, rising; 'goodnight, and joy be
with you! Good-night, fair ladies, who have so highly honoured a
proscribed and banished Prince! Good-night, my brave friends; may the
happiness we have this evening experienced be an omen of our return
to these our paternal halls, speedily and in triumph, and of many and
many future meetings of mirth and pleasure in the palace of Holyrood!'
When the Baron of Bradwardine afterwards mentioned this adieu of the
Chevalier, he never failed to repeat, in a melancholy tone,
'Audiit, et voti Phoebus succedere partem Mente dedit; partem volucres
dispersit in auras;
which,' as he added, 'is weel rendered into English metre by my friend
Bangour:-Ae half the prayer wi' Phoebus grace did find, The t'other half he
whistled down the wind.'
CHAPTER XV
THE MARCH
The conflicting passions and exhausted feelings of Waverley had
resigned him to late but sound repose. He was dreaming of
Glennaquoich, and had transferred to the halls of lan nan Chaistel the
festal train which so lately graced those of Holyrood. The pibroch too
was distinctly heard; and this at least was no delusion, for the 'proud
step of the chief piper' of the 'chlain Mac-Ivor' was perambulating the
court before the door of his Chieftain's quarters, and as Mrs. Flockhart,
apparently no friend to his minstrelsy, was pleased to observe, 'garring
the very stane-and-lime wa's dingle wi' his screeching.' Of course it
soon became too powerful for Waverley's dream, with which it had at
first rather harmonised.
The sound of Callum's brogues in his apartment (for Mac-Ivor had
again assigned Waverley to his care) was the next note of parting.
'Winna yer honour bang up? Vich lan Vohr and ta Prince are awa to the
lang green glen ahint the clachan, tat they ca' the King's Park, [Footnote:
The main body of the Highland army encamped, or rather bivouacked,
in that part of the King's Park which lies towards the village of
Duddingston.] and mony ane's on his ain shanks the day that will be
carried on ither folk's ere night.'
Waverley sprung up, and, with Callum's assistance and instructions,
adjusted his tartans in proper costume. Callum told him also,' tat his
leather dorlach wi' the lock on her was come frae Doune, and she was
awa again in the wain wi' Vich Ian Vohr's walise.'
By this periphrasis Waverley readily apprehended his portmanteau was
intended. He thought upon the mysterious packet of the maid of the
cavern, which seemed always to escape him when within his very grasp.
But this was no time for indulgence of curiosity; and having declined
Mrs. Flockhart's compliment of a MORNING, i.e. a matutinal dram,
being probably the only man in the Chevalier's army by whom such a
courtesy would have been rejected, he made his adieus and departed
with Callum.
'Callum,' said he, as they proceeded down a dirty close to gain the
southern skirts of the Canongate, 'what shall I do for a horse?'
'Ta deil ane ye maun think o',' said Callum. 'Vich Ian Vohr's marching
on foot at the head o' his kin (not to say ta Prince, wha does the like),
wi' his target on his shoulder; and ye maun e'en be neighbour-like.'
'And so I will, Callum, give me my target; so, there we are fixed. How
does it look?'
'Like the bra' Highlander tat's painted on the board afore the mickle
change-house they ca' Luckie Middlemass's,' answered Callum;
meaning, I must observe, a high compliment, for in his opinion Luckie
Middlemass's sign was an exquisite specimen of art. Waverley,
however, not feeling the full force of this polite simile, asked him no
further questions.
Upon extricating themselves from the mean and dirty suburbs of the
metropolis, and emerging into the open air, Waverley felt a renewal of
both health and spirits, and turned his recollection with firmness upon
the events of the preceding evening, and with hope and resolution
towards those of the approaching day.
When he had surmounted a small craggy eminence called St. Leonard's
Hill, the King's Park, or the hollow between the mountain of Arthur's
Seat and the rising grounds on which the southern part of Edinburgh is
now built, lay beneath him, and displayed a singular and animating
prospect. It was occupied by the army of the Highlanders, now in the
act of preparing for their march. Waverley had already seen something
of the kind at the hunting-match which he attended with Fergus
Mac-Ivor; but this was on a scale of much greater magnitude, and
incomparably deeper interest. The rocks, which formed the background
of the scene, and the very sky itself, rang with the clang of the
bagpipers, summoning forth, each with his appropriate pibroch, his
chieftain and clan. The mountaineers, rousing themselves from their
couch under the canopy of heaven with the hum and bustle of a
confused and irregular multitude, like bees alarmed and arming in their
hives, seemed to possess all the pliability of movement fitted to execute
military manoeuvres. Their motions appeared spontaneous and
confused, but the result was order and regularity; so that a general must
have praised the conclusion, though a martinet might have ridiculed the
method by which it was attained.
The sort of complicated medley created by the hasty arrangements of
the various clans under their respective banners, for the purpose of
getting into the order of march, was in itself a gay and lively spectacle.
They had no tents to striket having generally, and by choice, slept upon
the open field, although the autumn was now waning and the nights
began to be frosty. For a little space, while they were getting into order,
there was exhibited a changing, fluctuating, and confused appearance
of waving tartans and floating plumes, and of banners displaying the
proud gathering word of Clanronald, Ganion Coheriga (Gainsay who
dares), Loch-Sloy, the watchword of the MacFarlanes; Forth, fortune,
and fill the fetters, the motto of the Marquis of Tullibardine; Bydand,
that of Lord Lewis Gordon, and the appropriate signal words and
emblems of many other chieftains and clans.
At length the mixed and wavering multitude arranged themselves into a
narrow and dusky column of great length, stretching through the whole
extent of the valley. In the front of the column the standard of the
Chevalier was displayed, bearing a red cross upon a white ground, with
the motto Tandem Triumphans. The few cavalry, being chiefly
Lowland gentry, with their domestic servants and retainers, formed the
advanced guard of the army; and their standards, of which they had
rather too many in respect of their numbers, were seen waving upon the
extreme verge of the horizon. Many horsemen of this body, among
whom Waverley accidentally remarked Balmawhapple and his
lieutenant, Jinker (which last, however, had been reduced, with several
others, by the advice of the Baron of Bradwardine, to the situation of
what he called reformed officers, or reformadoes), added to the
liveliness, though by no means to the regularity, of the scene, by
galloping their horses as fast forward as the press would permit, to join
their proper station in the van. The fascinations of the Circes of the
High Street, and the potations of strength with which they had been
drenched over night, had probably detained these heroes within the
walls of Edinburgh somewhat later than was consistent with their
morning duty. Of such loiterers, the prudent took the longer and
circuitous, but more open, route to attain their place in the march, by
keeping at some distance from the infantry, and making their way
through the inclosures to the right, at the expense of leaping over or
pulling down the drystone fences. The irregular appearance and
vanishing of these small parties of horsemen, as well as the confusion
occasioned by those who endeavoured, though generally without effect,
to press to the front through the crowd of Highlanders, maugre their
curses, oaths, and opposition, added to the picturesque wildness what it
took from the military regularity of the scene.
While Waverley gazed upon this remarkable spectacle, rendered yet
more impressive by the occasional discharge of cannon-shot from the
Castle at the Highland guards as they were withdrawn from its vicinity
to join their main body, Callum, with his usual freedom of interference,
reminded him that Vich lan Vohr's folk were nearly at the head of the
column of march which was still distant, and that 'they would gang
very fast after the cannon fired.' Thus admonished, Waverley walked
briskly forward, yet often casting a glance upon the darksome clouds of
warriors who were collected before and beneath him. A nearer view,
indeed, rather diminished the effect impressed on the mind by the more
distant appearance of the army. The leading men of each clan were well
armed with broad-sword, target, and fusee, to which all added the dirk,
and most the steel pistol. But these consisted of gentlemen, that is,
relations of the chief, however distant, and who had an immediate title
to his countenance and protection. Finer and hardier men could not
have been selected out of any army in Christendom; while the free and
independent habits which each possessed, and which each was yet so
well taught to subject to the command of his chief, and the peculiar
mode of discipline adopted in Highland warfare, rendered them equally
formidable by their individual courage and high spirit, and from their
rational conviction of the necessity of acting in unison, and of giving
their national mode of attack the fullest opportunity of success.
But, in a lower rank to these, there were found individuals of an inferior
description, the common peasantry of the Highland country, who,
although they did not allow themselves to be so called, and claimed
often, with apparent truth, to be of more ancient descent than the
masters whom they served, bore, nevertheless, the livery of extreme
penury, being indifferently accoutred, and worse armed, half naked,
stinted in growth, and miserable in aspect. Each important clan had
some of those Helots attached to them: thus, the MacCouls, though
tracing their descent from Comhal, the father of Finn or Fingal, were a
sort of Gibeonites, or hereditary servants to the Stewarts of Appin; the
Macbeths, descended from the unhappy monarch of that name, were
subjects to the Morays and clan Donnochy, or Robertsons of Athole;
and many other examples might be given, were it not for the risk of
hurting any pride of clanship which may yet be left, and thereby
drawing a Highland tempest into the shop of my publisher. Now these
same Helots, though forced into the field by the arbitrary authority of
the chieftains under whom they hewed wood and drew water, were in
general very sparingly fed, ill dressed, and worse armed. The latter
circumstance was indeed owing chiefly to the general disarming act,
which had been carried into effect ostensibly through the whole
Highlands, although most of the chieftains contrived to elude its
influence by retaining the weapons of their own immediate clansmen,
and delivering up those of less value, which they collected from these
inferior satellites. It followed, as a matter of course, that, as we have
already hinted, many of these poor fellows were brought to the field in
a very wretched condition.
From this it happened that, in bodies, the van of which were admirably
well armed in their own fashion, the rear resembled actual banditti.
Here was a pole-axe, there a sword without a scabbard; here a gun
without a lock, there a scythe set straight upon a pole; and some had
only their dirks, and bludgeons or stakes pulled out of hedges. The grim,
uncombed, and wild appearance of these men, most of whom gazed
with all the admiration of ignorance upon the most ordinary
productions of domestic art, created surprise in the Lowlands, but it
also created terror. So little was the condition of the Highlands known
at that late period that the character and appearance of their population,
while thus sallying forth as military adventurers, conveyed to the
South-Country Lowlanders as much surprise as if an invasion of
African Negroes or Esquimaux Indians had issued forth from the
northern mountains of their own native country. It cannot therefore be
wondered if Waverley, who had hitherto judged of the Highlanders
generally from the samples which the policy of Fergus had from time to
time exhibited, should have felt damped and astonished at the daring
attempt of a body not then exceeding four thousand men, and of whom
not above half the number, at the utmost, were armed, to change the
fate and alter the dynasty of the British kingdoms.
As he moved along the column, which still remained stationary, an iron
gun, the only piece of artillery possessed by the army which meditated
so important a revolution, was fired as the signal of march. The
Chevalier had expressed a wish to leave this useless piece of ordnance
behind him; but, to his surprise, the Highland chiefs interposed to
solicit that it might accompany their march, pleading the prejudices of
their followers, who, little accustomed to artillery, attached a degree of
absurd importance to this field-piece, and expected it would contribute
essentially to a victory which they could only owe to their own muskets
and broadswords. Two or three French artillerymen were therefore
appointed to the management of this military engine, which was drawn
along by a string of Highland ponies, and was, after all, only used for
the purpose of firing signals. [Footnote: See Note 31.]
No sooner was its voice heard upon the present occasion than the whole
line was in motion. A wild cry of joy from the advancing batallions rent
the air, and was then lost in the shrill clangour of the bagpipes, as the
sound of these, in their turn, was partially drowned by the heavy tread
of so many men put at once into motion. The banners glittered and
shook as they moved forward, and the horse hastened to occupy their
station as the advanced guard, and to push on reconnoitring parties to
ascertain and report the motions of the enemy. They vanished from
Waverley's eye as they wheeled round the base of Arthur's Seat, under
the remarkable ridge of basaltic rocks which fronts the little lake of
Duddingston.
The infantry followed in the same direction, regulating their pace by
another body which occupied a road more to the southward. It cost
Edward some exertion of activity to attain the place which Fergus's
followers occupied in the line of march.
CHAPTER XVI
AN INCIDENT GIVES RISE TO UNAVAILING REFLECTIONS
When Waverley reached that part of the column which was filled by
the clan of Mac-Ivor, they halted, formed, and received him with a
triumphant flourish upon the bagpipes and a loud shout of the men,
most of whom knew him personally, and were delighted to see him in
the dress of their country and of their sept. 'You shout,' said a
Highlander of a neighbouring clan to Evan Dhu, 'as if the Chieftain
were just come to your head.'
'Mar e Bran is e a brathair, If it be not Bran, it is Bran's brother,' was
the proverbial reply of Maccombich. [Footnote: Bran, the well-known
dog of Fingal, is often the theme of Highland proverb as well as song.]
'O, then, it is the handsome Sassenach duinhe-wassel that is to be
married to Lady Flora?'
'That may be, or it may not be; and it is neither your matter nor mine,
Gregor.'
Fergus advanced to embrace the volunteer, and afford him a warm and
hearty welcome; but he thought it necessary to apologize for the
diminished numbers of his battalion (which did not exceed three
hundred men) by observing he had sent a good many out upon parties.
The real fact, however, was, that the defection of Donald Bean Lean
had deprived him of at least thirty hardy fellows, whose services he had
fully reckoned upon, and that many of his occasional adherents had
been recalled by their several chiefs to the standards to which they most
properly owed their allegiance. The rival chief of the great northern
branch, also, of his own clan had mustered his people, although he had
not yet declared either for the government or for the Chevalier, and by
his intrigues had in some degree diminished the force with which
Fergus took the field. To make amends for these disappointments, it
was universally admitted that the followers of Vich Ian Vohr, in point
of appearance, equipment, arms, and dexterity in using them, equalled
the most choice troops which followed the standard of Charles Edward.
Old Ballenkeiroch acted as his major; and, with the other officers who
had known Waverley when at Glennaquoich, gave our hero a cordial
reception, as the sharer of their future dangers and expected honours.
The route pursued by the Highland army, after leaving the village of
Duddingston, was for some time the common post-road betwixt
Edinburgh and Haddington, until they crossed the Esk at Musselburgh,
when, instead of keeping the low grounds towards the sea, they turned
more inland, and occupied the brow of the eminence called Carberry
Hill, a place already distinguished in Scottish history as the spot where
the lovely Mary surrendered herself to her insurgent subjects. This
direction was chosen because the Chevalier had received notice that the
army of the government, arriving by sea from Aberdeen, had landed at
Dunbar, and quartered the night before to the west of Haddington, with
the intention of falling down towards the sea-side, and approaching
Edinburgh by the lower coast-road. By keeping the height, which
overhung that road in many places, it was hoped the Highlanders might
find an opportunity of attacking them to advantage. The army therefore
halted upon the ridge of Carberry Hill, both to refresh the soldiers and
as a central situation from which their march could be directed to any
point that the motions of the enemy might render most advisable. While
they remained in this position a messenger arrived in haste to desire
Mac-Ivor to come to the Prince, adding that their advanced post had
had a skirmish with some of the enemy's cavalry, and that the Baron of
Bradwardine had sent in a few prisoners.
Waverley walked forward out of the line to satisfy his curiosity, and
soon observed five or six of the troopers who, covered with dust, had
galloped in to announce that the enemy were in full march westward
along the coast. Passing still a little farther on, he was struck with a
groan which issued from a hovel. He approached the spot, and heard a
voice, in the provincial English of his native county, which
endeavoured, though frequently interrupted by pain, to repeat the
Lord's Prayer. The voice of distress always found a ready answer in our
hero's bosom. He entered the hovel, which seemed to be intended for
what is called, in the pastoral counties of Scotland, a smearing-house;
and in its obscurity Edward could only at first discern a sort of red
bundle; for those who had stripped the wounded man of his arms and
part of his clothes had left him the dragoon-cloak in which he was
enveloped.
'For the love of God,' said the wounded man, as he heard Waverley's
step, 'give me a single drop of water!'
'You shall have it,' answered Waverley, at the same time raising him in
his arms, bearing him to the door of the hut, and giving him some drink
from his flask.
'I should know that voice,' said the man; but looking on Waverley's
dress with a bewildered look--'no, this is not the young squire!'
This was the common phrase by which Edward was distinguished on
the estate of Waverley-Honour, and the sound now thrilled to his heart
with the thousand recollections which the well-known accents of his
native country had already contributed to awaken. 'Houghton!' he said,
gazing on the ghastly features which death was fast disfiguring, 'can
this be you?'
'I never thought to hear an English voice again,' said the wounded
man;'they left me to live or die here as I could, when they found I
would say nothing about the strength of the regiment. But, O squire!
how could you stay from us so long, and let us be tempted by that fiend
of the pit, Rufinn? we should have followed you through flood and fire,
to be sure.'
'Rufin! I assure you, Houghton, you have been vilely imposed upon.'
'I often thought so,' said Houghton,'though they showed us your very
seal; and so Tims was shot and I was reduced to the ranks.'
'Do not exhaust your strength in speaking,' said Edward; 'I will get you
a surgeon presently.'
He saw Mac-Ivor approaching, who was now returning from
headquarters, where he had attended a council of war, and hastened to
meet him. 'Brave news!'shouted the Chief; 'we shall be at it in less than
two hours. The Prince has put himself at the head of the advance, and,
as he drew his sword, called out, "My friends, I have thrown away the
scabbard." Come, Waverley, we move instantly.'
'A moment--a moment; this poor prisoner is dying; where shall I find a
surgeon?'
'Why, where should you? We have none, you know, but two or three
French fellows, who, I believe, are little better than garqons
apothecaires.'
'But the man will bleed to death.'
'Poor fellow!' said Fergus, in a momentary fit of compassion; then
instantly added, 'But it will be a thousand men's fate before night; so
come along.'
'I cannot; I tell you he is a son of a tenant of my uncle's.'
'O, if he's a follower of yours he must be looked to; I'll send Callum to
you; but diaoul! ceade millia mottigheart,' continued the impatient
Chieftain, 'what made an old soldier like Bradwardine send dying men
here to cumber us?'
Callum came with his usual alertness; and, indeed, Waverley rather
gained than lost in the opinion of the Highlanders by his anxiety about
the wounded man. They would not have understood the general
philanthropy which rendered it almost impossible for Waverley to have
passed any person in such distress; but, as apprehending that the
sufferer was one of his following they unanimously allowed that
Waverley's conduct was thatof akind and considerate chieftain, who
merited the attachment of his people. In about a quarter of an hour
poor Humphrey breathed his last, praying his young master, when he
returned to Waverley-Honour, to be kind to old Job Houghton and his
dame, and conjuring him not to fight with these wild petticoat-men
against old England.
When his last breath was drawn, Waverley, who had beheld with
sincere sorrow, and no slight tinge of remorse, the final agonies of
mortality, now witnessed for the first time, commanded Callum to
remove the body into the hut. This the young Highlander performed,
not without examining the pockets of the defunct, which, however, he
remarked had been pretty well spunged. He took the cloak, however,
and proceeding with the provident caution of a spaniel hiding a bone,
concealed it among some furze and carefully marked the spot,
observing that, if he chanced to return that way, it would be an
excellent rokelay for his auld mother Elspat.
It was by a considerable exertion that they regained their place in the
marching column, which was now moving rapidly forward to occupy
the high grounds above the village of Tranent, between which and the
sea lay the purposed march of the opposite army.
This melancholy interview with his late sergeant forced many
unavailing and painful reflections upon Waverley's mind. It was clear
from the confession of the man that Colonel Gardiner's proceedings
had been strictly warranted, and even rendered indispensable, by the
steps taken in Edward's name to induce the soldiers of his troop to
mutiny. The circumstance of the seal he now, for the first time,
recollected, and that he had lost it in the cavern of the robber, Bean
Lean. That the artful villain had secured it, and used it as the means of
carrying on an intrigue in the regiment for his own purposes, was
sufficiently evident; and Edward had now little doubt that in the packet
placed in his portmanteau by his daughter he should find farther light
upon his proceedings. In the meanwhile the repeated expostulation of
Houghton--'Ah, squire, why did you leave us?' rung like a knell in his
ears.
'Yes,' he said, 'I have indeed acted towards you with thoughtless cruelty.
I brought you from your paternal fields, and the protection of a
generous and kind landlord, and when I had subjected you to all the
rigour of military discipline, I shunned to bear my own share of the
burden, and wandered from the duties I had undertaken, leaving alike
those whom it was my business to protect, and my own reputation, to
suffer under the artifices of villainy. O, indolence and indecision of
mind, if not in yourselves vices--to how much exquisite misery and
mischief do you frequently prepare the way!'
CHAPTER XVII
THE EVE OF BATTLE
Although the Highlanders marched on very fast, the sun was declining
when they arrived upon the brow of those high grounds which
command an open and extensive plain stretching northward to the sea,
on which are situated, but at a considerable distance from each other,
the small villages of Seaton and Cockenzie, and the larger one of
Preston. One of the low coastroads to Edinburgh passed through this
plain, issuing upon it from the enclosures of Seaton House, and at the
town or village of Preston again entering the denies of an enclosed
country. By this way the English general had chosen to approach the
metropolis, both as most commodious for his cavalry, and being
probably of opinion that by doing so he would meet in front with the
Highlanders advancing from Edinburgh in the opposite direction. In
this he was mistaken; for the sound judgment of the Chevalier, or of
those to whose advice he listened, left the direct passage free, but
occupied the strong ground by which it was overlooked and
commanded.
When the Highlanders reached the heights above the plain described,
they were immediately formed in array of battle along the brow of the
hill. Almost at the same instant the van of the English appeared issuing
from among the trees and enclosures of Seaton, with the purpose of
occupying the level plain between the high ground and the sea; the
space which divided the armies being only about half a mile in breadth.
Waverley could plainly see the squadrons of dragoons issue, one after
another, from the defiles, with their videttes in front, and form upon the
plain, with their front opposed to that of the Prince's army. They were
followed by a train of field-pieces, which, when they reached the flank
of the dragoons, were also brought into line and pointed against the
heights. The march was continued by three or four regiments of
infantry marching in open column, their fixed bayonets showing like
successive hedges of steel, and their arms glancing like lightning, as, at
a signal given, they also at once wheeled up, and were placed in direct
opposition to the Highlanders. A second train of artillery, with another
regiment of horse, closed the long march, and formed on the left flank
of the infantry, the whole line facing southward.
While the English army went through these evolutions, the Highlanders
showed equal promptitude and zeal for battle. As fast as the clans came
upon the ridge which fronted their enemy, they were formed into line,
so that both armies got into complete order of battle at the same
moment. When this was accomplished, the Highlanders set up a
tremendous yell, which was re-echoed by the heights behind them. The
regulars, who were in high spirits, returned a loud shout of defiance,
and fired one or two of their cannon upon an advanced post of the
Highlanders. The latter displayed great earnestness to proceed instantly
to the attack, Evan Dhu urging to Fergus, by way of argument, that 'the
SIDIER ROY was tottering like an egg upon a staff, and that they had
a' the vantage of the onset, for even a haggis (God bless her!) could
charge down hill.'
But the ground through which the mountaineers must have descended,
although not of great extent, was impracticable in its character, being
not only marshy but intersected with walls of dry stone, and traversed
in its whole length by a very broad and deep ditch, circumstances
which must have given the musketry of the regulars dreadful
advantages before the mountaineers could have used their swords, on
which they were taught to rely. The authority of the commanders was
therefore interposed to curb the impetuosity of the Highlanders, and
only a few marksmen were sent down the descent to skirmish with the
enemy's advanced posts and to reconnoitre the ground.
Here, then, was a military spectacle of no ordinary interest or usual
occurrence. The two armies, so different in aspect and discipline, yet
each admirably trained in its own peculiar mode of war, upon whose
conflict the temporary fate at least of Scotland appeared to depend, now
faced each other like two gladiators in the arena, each meditating upon
the mode of attacking their enemy. The leading officers and the
general's staff of each army could be distinguished in front of their lines,
busied with spy-glasses to watch each other's motions, and occupied in
despatching the orders and receiving the intelligence conveyed by the
aides-de-camp and orderly men, who gave life to the scene by
galloping along in different directions, as if the fate of the day
depended upon the speed of their horses. The space between the armies
was at times occupied by the partial and irregular contest of individual
sharp-shooters, and a hat or bonnet was occasionally seen to fall, as a
wounded man was borne off by his comrades. These, however, were
but trifling skirmishes, for it suited the views of neither party to
advance in that direction. From the neighbouring hamlets the peasantry
cautiously showed themselves, as if watching the issue of the expected
engagement; and at no great distance in the bay were two square-rigged
vessels, bearing the English flag, whose tops and yards were crowded
with less timid spectators.
When this awful pause had lasted for a short time, Fergus, with another
chieftain, received orders to detach their clans towards the village of
Preston, in order to threaten the right flank of Cope's army and compel
him to a change of position. To enable him to execute these orders, the
Chief of Glennaquoich occupied the church-yard of Tranent, a
commanding situation, and a convenient place, as Evan Dhu remarked,
'for any gentleman who might have the misfortune to be killed, and
chanced to be curious about Christian burial.' To check or dislodge this
party, the English general detached two guns, escorted by a strong party
of cavalry. They approached so near that Waverley could plainly
recognise the standard of the troop he had formerly commanded, and
hear the trumpets and kettle-drums sound the signal of advance which
he had so often obeyed. He could hear, too, the well-known word given
in the English dialect by the equally well-distinguished voice of the
commanding officer, for whom he had once felt so much respect. It was
at that instant, that, looking around him, he saw the wild dress and
appearance of his Highland associates, heard their whispers in an
uncouth and unknown language, looked upon his own dress, so unlike
that which he had worn from his infancy, and wished to awake from
what seemed at the moment a dream, strange, horrible, and unnatural.
'Good God!' he muttered, 'am I then a traitor to my country, a renegade
to my standard, and a foe, as that poor dying wretch expressed himself,
to my native England!'
Ere he could digest or smother the recollection, the tall military form of
his late commander came full in view, for the purpose of reconnoitring.
'I can hit him now,' said Callum, cautiously raising his fusee over the
wall under which he lay couched, at scarce sixty yards' distance.
Edward felt as if he was about to see a parricide committed in his
presence; for the venerable grey hair and striking countenance of the
veteran recalled the almost paternal respect with which his officers
universally regarded him. But ere he could say 'Hold!' an aged
Highlander who lay beside Callum Beg stopped his arm. 'Spare your
shot,' said the seer, 'his hour is not yet come. But let him beware of
to-morrow; I see his winding-sheet high upon his breast.'
Callum, flint to other considerations, was penetrable to superstition. He
turned pale at the words of the taishatr_, and recovered his piece.
Colonel Gardiner, unconscious of the danger he had escaped, turned his
horse round and rode slowly back to the front of his regiment.
By this time the regular army had assumed a new line, with one flank
inclined towards the sea and the other resting upon the village of
Preston; and, as similar difficulties occurred in attacking their new
position, Fergus and the rest of the detachment were recalled to their
former post. This alteration created the necessity of a corresponding
change in General Cope's army, which was again brought into a line
parallel with that of the Highlanders. In these manoeuvres on both sides
the daylight was nearly consumed, and both armies prepared to rest
upon their arms for the night in the lines which they respectively
occupied.
'There will be nothing done to-night,' said Fergus to his friend
Waverley; 'ere we wrap ourselves in our plaids, let us go see what the
Baron is doing in the rear of the line.'
When they approached his post, they found the good old careful officer,
after having sent out his night patrols and posted his sentinels, engaged
in reading the Evening Service of the Episcopal Church to the
remainder of his troop. His voice was loud and sonorous, and though
his spectacles upon his nose, and the appearance of Saunders
Saunderson, in military array, performing the functions of clerk, had
something ludicrous, yet the circumstances of danger in which they
stood, the military costume of the audience, and the appearance of their
horses saddled and picqueted behind them, gave an impressive and
solemn effect to the office of devotion.
'I have confessed to-day, ere you were awake,' whispered Fergus to
Waverley; 'yet I am not so strict a Catholic as to refuse to join in this
good man's prayers.'
Edward assented, and they remained till the Baron had concluded the
service.
As he shut the book, 'Now, lads,' said he, 'have at them in the morning
with heavy hands and light consciences.' He then kindly greeted
Mac-Ivor and Waverley, who requested to know his opinion of their
situation. Why, you know Tacitus saith, "In rebus bellicis maxime
dominalur Fortuna," which is equiponderate with our vernacular adage,
"Luck can maist in the mellee." But credit me, gentlemen, yon man is
not a deacon o' his craft. He damps the spirits of the poor lads he
commands by keeping them on the defensive, whilk of itself implies
inferiority or fear. Now will they lie on their arms yonder as anxious
and as ill at ease as a toad under a harrow, while our men will be quite
fresh and blithe for action in the morning. Well, good-night. One thing
troubles me, but if to-morrow goes well off, I will consult you about it,
Glennaquoich.'
'I could almost apply to Mr. Bradwardine the character which Henry
gives of Fluellen,' said Waverley, as his friend and he walked towards
their bivouac:
'Though it appears a little out of fashion, There is much care and valour
in this "Scotchman."'
'He has seen much service,' answered Fergus, 'and one is sometimes
astonished to find how much nonsense and reason are mingled in his
composition. I wonder what can be troubling his mind; probably
something about Rose. Hark! the English are setting their watch.'
The roll of the drum and shrill accompaniment of the fifes swelled up
the hill--died away--resumed its thunder--and was at length hushed.
The trumpets and kettle-drums of the cavalry were next heard to
perform the beautiful and wild point of war appropriated as a signal for
that piece of nocturnal duty, and then finally sunk upon the wind with a
shrill and mournful cadence.
The friends, who had now reached their post, stood and looked round
them ere they lay down to rest. The western sky twinkled with stars,
but a frost-mist, rising from the ocean, covered the eastern horizon, and
rolled in white wreaths along the plain where the adverse army lay
couched upon their arms. Their advanced posts were pushed as far as
the side of the great ditch at the bottom of the descent, and had kindled
large fires at different intervals, gleaming with obscure and hazy lustre
through the heavy fog which encircled them with a doubtful halo.
The Highlanders,'thick as leaves in Vallombrosa,' lay stretched upon
the ridge of the hill, buried (excepting their sentinels) in the most
profound repose. 'How many of these brave fellows will sleep more
soundly before to-morrow night, Fergus!' said Waverley, with an
involuntary sigh.
'You must not think of that,' answered Fergus, whose ideas were
entirely military. 'You must only think of your sword, and by whom it
was given. All other reflections are now TOO LATE.'
With the opiate contained in this undeniable remark Edward
endeavoured to lull the tumult of his conflicting feelings. The Chieftain
and he, combining their plaids, made a comfortable and warm couch.
Callum, sitting down at their head (for it was his duty to watch upon
the immediate person of the Chief), began a long mournful song in
Gaelic, to a low and uniform tune, which, like the sound of the wind at
a distance, soon lulled them to sleep.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE CONFLICT
When Fergus Mac-Ivor and his friend had slept for a few hours, they
were awakened and summoned to attend the Prince. The distant village
clock was heard to toll three as they hastened to the place where he lay.
He was already surrounded by his principal officers and the chiefs of
clans. A bundle of pease-straw, which had been lately his couch, now
served for his seat. Just as Fergus reached the circle, the consultation
had broken up. 'Courage, my brave friends!' said the Chevalier, 'and
each one put himself instantly at the head of his command; a faithful
friend [Footnote: See Note 32.] has offered to guide us by a practicable,
though narrow and circuitous, route, which, sweeping to our right,
traverses the broken ground and morass, and enables us to gain the firm
and open plain upon which the enemy are lying. This difficulty
surmounted, Heaven and your good swords must do the rest.'
The proposal spread unanimous joy, and each leader hastened to get his
men into order with as little noise as possible. The army, moving by its
right from off the ground on which they had rested, soon entered the
path through the morass, conducting their march with astonishing
silence and great rapidity. The mist had not risen to the higher grounds,
so that for some time they had the advantage of star-light. But this was
lost as the stars faded before approaching day, and the head of the
marching column, continuing its descent, plunged as it were into the
heavy ocean of fog, which rolled its white waves over the whole plain,
and over the sea by which it was bounded. Some difficulties were now
to be encountered, inseparable from darkness, a narrow, broken, and
marshy path, and the necessity of preserving union in the march. These,
however, were less inconvenient to Highlanders, from their habits of
life, than they would have been to any other troops, and they continued
a steady and swift movement.
As the clan of Ivor approached the firm ground, following the track of
those who preceded them, the challenge of a patrol was heard through
the mist, though they could not see the dragoon by whom it was
made--'Who goes there?'
'Hush!' cried Fergus, 'hush! let none answer, as he values his life; press
forward'; and they continued their march with silence and rapidity.
The patrol fired his carabine upon the body, and the report was
instantly followed by the clang of his horse's feet as he galloped off.
'Hylax in limine latrat,' said the Baron of Bradwardine, who heard the
shot; 'that loon will give the alarm.'
The clan of Fergus had now gained the firm plain, which had lately
borne a large crop of corn. But the harvest was gathered in, and the
expanse was unbroken by tree, bush, or interruption of any kind. The
rest of the army were following fast, when they heard the drums of the
enemy beat the general. Surprise, however, had made no part of their
plan, so they were not disconcerted by this intimation that the foe was
upon his guard and prepared to receive them. It only hastened their
dispositions for the combat, which were very simple.
The Highland army, which now occupied the eastern end of the wide
plain, or stubble field, so often referred to, was drawn up in two lines,
extending from the morass towards the sea. The first was destined to
charge the enemy, the second to act as a reserve. The few horse, whom
the Prince headed in person, remained between the two lines. The
adventurer had intimated a resolution to charge in person at the head of
his first line; but his purpose was deprecated by all around him, and he
was with difficulty induced to abandon it.
Both lines were now moving forward, the first prepared for instant
combat. The clans of which it was composed formed each a sort of
separate phalanx, narrow in front, and in depth ten, twelve, or fifteen
files, according to the strength of the following. The best-armed and
best-born, for the words were synonymous, were placed in front of each
of these irregular subdivisions. The others in the rear shouldered
forward the front, and by their pressure added both physical impulse
and additional ardour and confidence to those who were first to
encounter the danger.
'Down with your plaid, Waverley,' cried Fergus, throwing off his own;
'we'll win silks for our tartans before the sun is above the sea.'
The clansmen on every side stript their plaids, prepared their arms, and
there was an awful pause of about three minutes, during which the men,
pulling off their bonnets, raised their faces to heaven and uttered a short
prayer; then pulled their bonnets over their brows and began to move
forward, at first slowly. Waverley felt his heart at that moment throb as
it would have burst from his bosom. It was not fear, it was not ardour:
it was a compound of both, a new and deeply energetic impulse that
with its first emotion chilled and astounded, then fevered and
maddened his mind. The sounds around him combined to exalt his
enthusiasm; the pipes played, and the clans rushed forward, each in its
own dark column. As they advanced they mended their pace, and the
muttering sounds of the men to each other began to swell into a wild
cry.
At this moment the sun, which was now risen above the horizon,
dispelled the mist. The vapours rose like a curtain, and showed the two
armies in the act of closing. The line of the regulars was formed
directly fronting the attack of the Highlanders; it glittered with the
appointments of a complete army, and was flanked by cavalry and
artillery. But the sight impressed no terror on the assailants.
'Forward, sons of Ivor,' cried their Chief, 'or the Camerons will draw
the first blood!' They rushed on with a tremendous yell.
The rest is well known. The horse, who were commanded to charge the
advancing Highlanders in the flank, received an irregular fire from their
fusees as they ran on and, seized with a disgraceful panic, wavered,
halted, disbanded, and galloped from the field. The artillery men,
deserted by the cavalry, fled after discharging their pieces, and the
Highlanders, who dropped their guns when fired and drew their
broadswords, rushed with headlong fury against the infantry.
It was at this moment of confusion and terror that Waverley remarked
an English officer, apparently of high rank, standing, alone and
unsupported, by a fieldpiece, which, after the flight of the men by
whom it was wrought, he had himself levelled and discharged against
the clan of Mac-Ivor, the nearest group of Highlanders within his aim.
Struck with his tall, martial figure, and eager to save him from
inevitable destruction, Waverley outstripped for an instant even the
speediest of the warriors, and, reaching the spot first, called to him to
surrender. The officer replied by a thrust with his sword, which
Waverley received in his target, and in turning it aside the Englishman's
weapon broke. At the same time the battle-axe of Dugald Mahony was
in the act of descending upon the officer's head. Waverley intercepted
and prevented the blow, and the officer, perceiving further resistance
unavailing, and struck with Edward's generous anxiety for his safety,
resigned the fragment of his sword, and was committed by Waverley to
Dugald, with strict charge to use him well, and not to pillage his person,
promising him, at the same time, full indemnification for the spoil.
On Edward's right the battle for a few minutes raged fierce and thick.
The English infantry, trained in the wars in Flanders, stood their ground
with great courage. But their extended files were pierced and broken in
many places by the close masses of the clans; and in the personal
struggle which ensued the nature of the Highlanders' weapons, and
their extraordinary fierceness and activity, gave them a decided
superiority over those who had been accustomed to trust much to their
array and discipline, and felt that the one was broken and the other
useless. Waverley, as he cast his eyes towards this scene of smoke and
slaughter, observed Colonel Gardiner, deserted by his own soldiers in
spite of all his attempts to rally them, yet spurring his horse through the
field to take the command of a small body of infantry, who, with their
backs arranged against the wall of his own park (for his house was
close by the field of battle), continued a desperate and unavailing
resistance. Waverley could perceive that he had already received many
wounds, his clothes and saddle being marked with blood. To save this
good and brave man became the instant object of his most anxious
exertions. But he could only witness his fall. Ere Edward could make
his way among the Highlanders, who, furious and eager for spoil, now
thronged upon each other, he saw his former commander brought from
his horse by the blow of a scythe, and beheld him receive, while on the
ground, more wounds than would have let out twenty lives. When
Waverley came up, however, perception had not entirely fled. The
dying warrior seemed to recognize Edward, for he fixed his eye upon
him with an upbraiding, yet sorrowful, look, and appeared to struggle,
for utterance. But he felt that death was dealing closely with him, and
resigning his purpose, and folding his hands as if in devotion, he gave
up his soul to his Creator. The look with which he regarded Waverley
in his dying moments did not strike him so deeply at that crisis of hurry
and confusion as when it recurred to his imagination at the distance of
some time. [Footnote: See Note 33.]
Loud shouts of triumph now echoed over the whole field. The battle
was fought and won, and the whole baggage, artillery, and military
stores of the regular army remained in possession of the victors. Never
was a victory more complete. Scarce any escaped from the battle,
excepting the cavalry, who had left it at the very onset, and even these
were broken into different parties and scattered all over the country. So
far as our tale is concerned, we have only to relate the fate of
Balmawhapple, who, mounted on a horse as headstrong and
stiff-necked as his rider, pursued the flight of the dragoons above four
miles from the field of battle, when some dozen of the fugitives took
heart of grace, turned round, and cleaving his skull with their
broadswords, satisfied the world that the unfortunate gentleman had
actually brains, the end of his life thus giving proof of a fact greatly
doubted during its progress. His death was lamented by few. Most of
those who knew him agreed in the pithy observation of Ensign
Maccombich, that there 'was mair tint (lost) at Sheriff-Muir.' His friend,
Lieutenant Jinker, bent his eloquence only to exculpate his favourite
mare from any share in contributing to the catastrophe. 'He had tauld
the laird a thousand times,' he said,'that it was a burning shame to put a
martingale upon the puir thing, when he would needs ride her wi' a curb
of half a yard lang; and that he could na but bring himsell (not to say
her) to some mischief, by flinging her down, or otherwise; whereas, if
he had had a wee bit rinnin ring on the snaffle, she wad ha' rein'd as
cannily as a cadger's pownie.'
Such was the elegy of the Laird of Balmawhapple. [Footnote: See Note
34.]
CHAPTER XIX
AN UNEXPECTED EMBARRASSMENT
When the battle was over, and all things coming into order, the Baron
of Bradwardine, returning from the duty of the day, and having
disposed those under his command in their proper stations, sought the
Chieftain of Glennaquoich and his friend Edward Waverley. He found
the former busied in determining disputes among his clansmen about
points of precedence and deeds of valour, besides sundry high and
doubtful questions concerning plunder. The most important of the last
respected the property of a gold watch, which had once belonged to
some unfortunate English officer. The party against whom judgment
was awarded consoled himself by observing, 'She (i.e. the watch, which
he took for a living animal) died the very night Vich lan Vohr gave her
to Murdoch'; the machine, having, in fact, stopped for want of winding
up.
It was just when this important question was decided that the Baron of
Bradwardine, with a careful and yet important expression of
countenance, joined the two young men. He descended from his
reeking charger, the care of which he recommended to one of his
grooms. 'I seldom ban, sir,' said he to the man; 'but if you play any of
your hound's-foot tricks, and leave puir Berwick before he's sorted, to
rin after spuilzie, deil be wi' me if I do not give your craig a thraw.' He
then stroked with great complacency the animal which had borne him
through the fatigues of the day, and having taken a tender leave of
him--' Weel, my good young friends, a glorious and decisive victory,'
said he; 'but these loons of troopers fled ower soon. I should have liked
to have shown you the true points of the pralium equestre, or equestrian
combat, whilk their cowardice has postponed, and which I hold to be
the pride and terror of warfare. Weel--I have fought once more in this
old quarrel, though I admit I could not be so far BEN as you lads, being
that it was my point of duty to keep together our handful of horse. And
no cavalier ought in any wise to begrudge honour that befalls his
companions, even though they are ordered upon thrice his danger,
whilk, another time, by the blessing of God, may be his own case. But,
Glennaquoich, and you, Mr. Waverley, I pray ye to give me your best
advice on a matter of mickle weight, and which deeply affects the
honour of the house of Bradwardine. I crave your pardon, Ensign
Maccombich, and yours, Inveraughlin, and yours, Edderalshendrach,
and yours, sir.'
The last person he addressed was Ballenkeiroch, who, remembering the
death of his son, loured on him with a look of savage defiance. The
Baron, quick as lightning at taking umbrage, had already bent his brow
when Glennaquoich dragged his major from the spot, and remonstrated
with him, in the authoritative tone of a chieftain, on the madness of
reviving a quarrel in such a moment.
'The ground is cumbered with carcasses,' said the old mountaineer,
turning sullenly away; 'ONE MORE would hardly have been
kenn'dupon it; and if it wasna for yoursell, Vich lan Vohr, that one
should be Bradwardine's or mine.'
The Chief soothed while he hurried him away; and then returned to the
Baron. 'It is Ballenkeiroch,' he said, in an under and confidential voice,
'father of the young man who fell eight years since in the unlucky affair
at the mains.'
'Ah!' said the Baron, instantly relaxing the doubtful sternness of his
features, 'I can take naickle frae a man to whom I have unhappily
rendered sic a displeasure as that. Ye were right to apprise me,
Glennaquoich; he may look as black as midnight at Martinmas ere
Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine shall say he does him wrang. Ah! I have
nae male lineage, and I should bear with one I have made childless,
though you are aware the blood-wit was made up to your ain
satisfaction by assythment, and that I have since expedited letters of
slains. Weel, as I have said, I have no male issue, and yet it is needful
that I maintain the honour of my house; and it is on that score I prayed
ye for your peculiar and private attention.'
The two young men awaited to hear him, in anxious curiosity.
'I doubt na, lads,' he proceeded, 'but your education has been sae seen
to that ye understand the true nature of the feudal tenures?'
Fergus, afraid of an endless dissertation, answered, 'Intimately, Baron,'
and touched Waverley as a signal to express no ignorance.
'And ye are aware, I doubt not, that the holding of the barony of
Bradwardine is of a nature alike honourable and peculiar, being blanch
(which Craig opines ought to be Latinated blancum, or rather francum,
a free holding) pro sermtio detrahendi, seu exuendi, caligas regis post
battalliam.' Here Fergus turned his falcon eye upon Edward, with an
almost imperceptible rise of his eyebrow, to which his shoulders
corresponded in the same degree of elevation. 'Now, twa points of
dubitation occur to me upon this topic. First, whether this service, or
feudal homage, be at any event due to the person of the Prince, the
words being, per expressum, caligas REGIS, the boots of the king
himself; and I pray your opinion anent that particular before we
proceed farther.'
'Why, he is Prince Regent,' answered Mac-Ivor, with laudable
composure of countenance; 'and in the court of France all the honours
are rendered to the person of the Regent which are due to that of the
King. Besides, were I to pull off either of their boots, I would render
that service to the young Chevalier ten times more willingly than to his
father.'
'Ay, but I talk not of personal predilections. However, your authority is
of great weight as to the usages of the court of France; and doubtless
the Prince, as alter ego, may have a right to claim the homagium of the
great tenants of the crown, since all faithful subjects are commanded, in
the commission of regency, to respect him as the King's own person.
Far, therefore, be it from me to diminish the lustre of his authority by
withholding this act of homage, so peculiarly calculated to give it
splendour; for I question if the Emperor of Germany hath his boots
taken off by a free baron of the empire. But here lieth the second
difficulty--the Prince wears no boots, but simply brogues and trews.'
This last dilemma had almost disturbed Fergus's gravity.
'Why,' said he, 'you know, Baron, the proverb tells us, "It's ill taking the
breeks off a Highlandman," and the boots are here in the same
predicament.'
'The word caligce, however,' continued the Baron, 'though I admit that,
by family tradition, and even in our ancient evidents, it is explained
"lie-boots," means, in its primitive sense, rather sandals; and Caius
Caesar, the nephew and successor of Caius Tiberius, received the
agnomen of Caligula, a caligulis sine caligis levioribus, quibus
adolescentior usus fuerat in exercitu Germanici patris sui. And the
caligce were also proper to the monastic bodies; for we read in an
ancient glossarium upon the rule of Saint Benedict, in the Abbey of
Saint Amand, that caligae were tied with latchets.'
'That will apply to the brogues,' said Fergus.
'It will so, my dear Glennaquoich, and the words are express: Caligae,
dicta sunt quia ligantur; nam socci non ligantur, sed tantum
intromittuntur; that is, caligae are denominated from the ligatures
wherewith they are bound; whereas socci, which may be analogous to
our mules, whilk the English denominate slippers, are only slipped
upon the feet. The words of the charter are also alternative, exuere seu
detrahere; that is, to undo, as in the case of sandals or brogues, and to
pull of, as we say vernacularly concerning boots. Yet I would we had
more light; but I fear there is little chance of finding hereabout any
erudite author de re vestiaria.'
'I should doubt it very much,' said the Chieftain, looking around on the
straggling Highlanders, who were returning loaded with spoils of the
slain,'though the res vestiaria itself seems to be in some request at
present.'
This remark coming within the Baron's idea of jocularity, he honoured
it with a smile, but immediately resumed what to him appeared very
serious business.
'Bailie Macwheeble indeed holds an opinion that this honorary service
is due, from its very nature, si petatur tantum; only if his Royal
Highness shall require of the great tenant of the crown to perform that
personal duty; and indeed he pointed out the case in Dirleton's Doubts
and Queries, Grippit versus Spicer, anent the eviction of an estate ob
non solutum canonem; that is, for non-payment of a feu-duty of three
pepper-corns a year, whilk were taxt to be worth seven-eighths of a
penny Scots, in whilk the defender was assoilzied. But I deem it safest,
wi' your good favour, to place myself in the way of rendering the
Prince this service, and to proffer performance thereof; and I shall
cause the Bailie to attend with a schedule of a protest, whilk he has here
prepared (taking out a paper), intimating, that if it shall be his Royal
Highness's pleasure to accept of other assistance at pulling off his
caligae (whether the same shall be rendered boots or brogues) save that
of the said Baron of Bradwardine, who is in presence ready and willing
to perform the same, it shall in no wise impinge upon or prejudice the
right of the said Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine to perform the said
service in future; nor shall it give any esquire, valet of the chamber,
squire, or page, whose assistance it may please his Royal Highness to
employ, any right, title, or ground for evicting from the said Cosmo
Comyne Bradwardine the estate and barony of Bradwardine, and others
held as aforesaid, by the due and faithful performance thereof.'
Fergus highly applauded this arrangement; and the Baron took a
friendly leave of them, with a smile of contented importance upon his
visage.
'Long live our dear friend the Baron,' exclaimed the Chief, as soon as
he was out of hearing, 'for the most absurd original that exists north of
the Tweed! I wish to heaven I had recommended him to attend the
circle this evening with a boot-ketch under his arm. I think he might
have adopted the suggestion if it had been made with suitable gravity.'
'And how can you take pleasure in making a man of his worth so
ridiculous?'
'Begging pardon, my dear Waverley, you are as ridiculous as he. Why,
do you not see that the man's whole mind is wrapped up in this
ceremony? He has heard and thought of it since infancy as the most
august privilege and ceremony in the world; and I doubt not but the
expected pleasure of performing it was a principal motive with him for
taking up arms. Depend upon it, had I endeavoured to divert him from
exposing himself he would have treated me as an ignorant, conceited
coxcomb, or perhaps might have taken a fancy to cut my throat; a
pleasure which he once proposed to himself upon some point of
etiquette not half so important, in his eyes, as this matter of boots or
brogues, or whatever the caliga shall finally be pronounced by the
learned. But I must go to headquarters, to prepare the Prince for this
extraordinary scene. My information will be well taken, for it will give
him a hearty laugh at present, and put him on his guard against
laughing when it might be very mal-a-propos. So, au revoir, my dear
Waverley.'
CHAPTER VII
THE ENGLISH PRISONER
The first occupation of Waverley, after he departed from the Chieftain,
was to go in quest of the officer whose life he had saved. He was
guarded, along with his companions in misfortune, who were very
numerous, in a gentleman's house near the field of battle.
On entering the room where they stood crowded together, Waverley
easily recognised the object of his visit, not only by the peculiar dignity
of his appearance, but by the appendage of Dugald Mahony, with his
battleaxe, who had stuck to him from the moment of his captivity as if
he had been skewered to his side. This close attendance was perhaps for
the purpose of securing his promised reward from Edward, but it also
operated to save the English gentleman from being plundered in the
scene of general confusion; for Dugald sagaciously argued that the
amount of the salvage which he might be allowed would be regulated
by the state of the prisoner when he should deliver him over to
Waverley. He hastened to assure Waverley, therefore, with more words
than he usually employed, that he had 'keepit ta sidier roy haill, and that
he wasna a plack the waur since the fery moment when his honour
forbad her to gie him a bit clamhewit wi' her Lochaber-axe.'
Waverley assured Dugald of a liberal recompense, and, approaching the
English officer, expressed his anxiety to do anything which might
contribute to his convenience under his present unpleasant
circumstances.
'I am not so inexperienced a soldier, sir,' answered the Englishman, 'as
to complain of the fortune of war. I am only grieved to see those scenes
acted in our own island which I have often witnessed elsewhere with
comparative indifference.'
'Another such day as this,' said Waverley, 'and I trust the cause of your
regrets will be removed, and all will again return to peace and order.'
The officer smiled and shook his head. 'I must not forget my situation
so far as to attempt a formal confutation of that opinion; but,
notwithstanding your success and the valour which achieved it, you
have undertaken a task to which your strength appears wholly
inadequate.'
At this moment Fergus pushed into the press.
'Come, Edward, come along; the Prince has gone to Pinkie House for
the night; and we must follow, or lose the whole ceremony of the
caligae. Your friend, the Baron, has been guilty of a great piece of
cruelty; he has insisted upon dragging Bailie Macwheeble out to the
field of battle. Now, you must know, the Bailie's greatest horror is an
armed Highlander or a loaded gun; and there he stands, listening to the
Baron's instructions concerning the protest, ducking his head like a
sea-gull at the report of every gun and pistol that our idle boys are
firing upon the fields, and undergoing, by way of penance, at every
symptom of flinching a severe rebuke from his patron, who would not
admit the discharge of a whole battery of cannon, within point-blank
distance, as an apology for neglecting a discourse in which the honour
of his family is interested.'
'But how has Mr. Bradwardine got him to venture so far?' said Edward.
'Why, he had come as far as Musselburgh, I fancy, in hopes of making
some of our wills; and the peremptory commands of the Baron dragged
him forward to Preston after the battle was over. He complains of one
or two of our ragamuffins having put him in peril of his life by
presenting their pieces at him; but as they limited his ransom to an
English penny, I don't think we need trouble the provost-marshal upon
that subject. So come along, Waverley.'
'Waverley!' said the English officer, with great emotion;' the nephew of
Sir Everard Waverley, of----shire?'
'The same, sir,' replied our hero, somewhat surprised at the tone in
which he was addressed.
'I am at once happy and grieved,' said the prisoner, 'to have met with
you.'
'I am ignorant, sir,' answered Waverley, 'how I have deserved so much
interest.'
'Did your uncle never mention a friend called Talbot?'
'I have heard him talk with great regard of such a person,' replied
Edward; 'a colonel, I believe, in the army, and the husband of Lady
Emily Blandeville; but I thought Colonel Talbot had been abroad.'
'I am just returned,' answered the officer; 'and being in Scotland,
thought it my duty to act where my services promised to be useful. Yes,
Mr. Waverley, I am that Colonel Talbot, the husband of the lady you
have named; and I am proud to acknowledge that I owe alike my
professional rank and my domestic happiness to your generous and
noble-minded relative. Good God! that I should find his nephew in
such a dress, and engaged in such a cause!'
'Sir,' said Fergus, haughtily, 'the dress and cause are those of men of
birth and honour.'
'My situation forbids me to dispute your assertion,' said Colonel Talbot;
'otherwise it were no difficult matter to show that neither courage nor
pride of lineage can gild a bad cause. But, with Mr. Waverley's
permission and yours, sir, if yours also must be asked, I would
willingly speak a few words with him on affairs connected with his
own family.'
'Mr. Waverley, sir, regulates his own motions. You will follow me, I
suppose, to Pinkie,' said Fergus, turning to Edward, 'when you have
finished your discourse with this new acquaintance?' So saying, the
Chief of Glennaquoich adjusted his plaid with rather more than his
usual air of haughty assumption and left the apartment.
The interest of Waverley readily procured for Colonel Talbot the
freedom of adjourning to a large garden belonging to his place of
confinement. They walked a few paces in silence, Colonel Talbot
apparently studying how to open what he had to say; at length he
addressed Edward.
'Mr. Waverley, you have this day saved my life; and yet I would to God
that I had lost it, ere I had found you wearing the uniform and cockade
of these men.'
'I forgive your reproach, Colonel Talbot; it is well meant, and your
education and prejudices render it natural. But there is nothing
extraordinary in finding a man whose honour has been publicly and
unjustly assailed in the situation which promised most fair to afford
him satisfaction on his calumniators.'
'I should rather say, in the situation most likely to confirm the reports
which they have circulated,' said Colonel Talbot, 'by following the very
line of conduct ascribed to you. Are you aware, Mr. Waverley, of the
infinite distress, and even danger, which your present conduct has
occasioned to your nearest relatives?'
'Danger!'
'Yes, sir, danger. When I left England your uncle and father had been
obliged to find bail to answer a charge of treason, to which they were
only admitted by the exertion of the most powerful interest. I came
down to Scotland with the sole purpose of rescuing you from the gulf
into which you have precipitated yourself; nor can I estimate the
consequences to your family of your having openly joined the rebellion,
since the very suspicion of your intention was so perilous to them.
Most deeply do I regret that I did not meet you before this last and fatal
error.'
'I am really ignorant,' said Waverley, in a tone of reserve, 'why Colonel
Talbot should have taken so much trouble on my account.'
'Mr. Waverley,' answered Talbot, 'I am dull at apprehending irony; and
therefore I shall answer your words according to their plain meaning. I
am indebted to your uncle for benefits greater than those which a son
owes to a father. I acknowledge to him the duty of a son; and as I know
there is no manner in which I can requite his kindness so well as by
serving you, I will serve you, if possible, whether you will permit me or
no. The personal obligation which you have this day laid me under
(although, in common estimation, as great as one human being can
bestow on another) adds nothing to my zeal on your behalf; nor can
that zeal be abated by any coolness with which you may please to
receive it.'
'Your intentions may be kind, sir,' said Waverley, drily; 'but your
language is harsh, or at least peremptory.'
'On my return to England,' continued Colonel Talbot, 'after long
absence, I found your uncle, Sir Everard Waverley, in the custody of a
king's messenger, in consequence of the suspicion brought upon him by
your conduct. He is my oldest friend--how often shall I repeat it?--my
best benefactor! he sacrificed his own views of happiness to mine; he
never uttered a word, he never harboured a thought, that benevolence
itself might not have thought or spoken. I found this man in
confinement, rendered harsher to him by his habits of life, his natural
dignity of feeling, and--forgive me, Mr. Waverley--by the cause
through which this calamity had come upon him. I cannot disguise
from you my feelings upon this occasion; they were most painfully
unfavorable to you. Having by my family interest, which you probably
know is not inconsiderable, succeeded in obtaining Sir Everard's
release, I set out for Scotland. I saw Colonel Gardiner, a man whose
fate alone is sufficient to render this insurrection for ever execrable. In
the course of conversation with him I found that, from late
circumstances, from a reexamination of the persons engaged in the
mutiny, and from his original good opinion of your character, he was
much softened towards you; and I doubted not that, if I could be so
fortunate as to discover you, all might yet be well. But this unnatural
rebellion has ruined all. I have, for the first time in a long and active
military life, seen Britons disgrace themselves by a panic flight, and
that before a foe without either arms or discipline. And now I find the
heir of my dearest friend--the son, I may say, of his' affections--sharing
a triumph for which he ought the first to have blushed. Why should I
lament Gardiner? his lot was happy compared to mine!'
There was so much dignity in Colonel Talbot's manner, such a mixture
of military pride and manly sorrow, and the news of Sir Everard's
imprisonment was told in so deep a tone of feeling, that Edward stood
mortified, abashed, and distressed in presence of the prisoner who
owed to him his life not many hours before. He was not sorry when
Fergus interrupted their conference a second time.
'His Royal Highness commands Mr. Waverley's attendance.' Colonel
Talbot threw upon Edward a reproachful glance, which did not escape
the quick eye of the Highland Chief. 'His immediate attendance,' he
repeated, with considerable emphasis. Waverley turned again towards
the Colonel.
'We shall meet again,' he said; 'in the meanwhile, every possible
accommodation--'
'I desire none,' said the Colonel; 'let me fare like the meanest of those
brave men who, on this day of calamity, have preferred wounds and
captivity to flight; I would almost exchange places with one of those
who have fallen to know that my words have made a suitable
impression on your mind.'
'Let Colonel Talbot be carefully secured,' said Fergus to the Highland
officer who commanded the guard over the prisoners; 'it is the Prince's
particular command; he is a prisoner of the utmost importance.'
'But let him want no accommodation suitable to his rank,' said
Waverley. 'Consistent always with secure custody,' reiterated Fergus.
The officer signified his acquiescence in both commands, and Edward
followed Fergus to the garden-gate, where Callum Beg, with three
saddle-horses, awaited them. Turning his head, he saw Colonel Talbot
reconducted to his place of confinement by a file of Highlanders; he
lingered on the threshold of the door and made a signal with his hand
towards Waverley, as if enforcing the language he had held towards
him.
'Horses,' said Fergus, as he mounted, 'are now as plenty as blackberries;
every man may have them for the catching. Come, let Callum adjust
your stirrups and let us to Pinkie House [Footnote: Charles Edward
took up his quarters after the battle at Pinkie House, adjoining to
Musselburgh.] as fast as these ci-devant dragoon-horses choose to carry
us.'
CHAPTER XXI
RATHER UNIMPORTANT
'I was turned back,' said Fergus to Edward, as they galloped from
Preston to Pinkie House, 'by a message from the Prince. But I suppose
you know the value of this most noble Colonel Talbot as a prisoner. He
is held one of the best officers among the red-coats, a special friend and
favourite of the Elector himself, and of that dreadful hero, the Duke of
Cumberland, who has been summoned from his triumphs at Fontenoy
to come over and devour us poor Highlanders alive. Has he been telling
you how the bells of St. James's ring? Not "turn again, Whittington,"
like those of Bow, in the days of yore?'
'Fergus!' said Waverley, with a reproachful look.
'Nay, I cannot tell what to make of you,' answered the Chief of
Mac-Ivor, 'you are blown about with every wind of doctrine. Here have
we gained a victory unparalleled in history, and your behaviour is
praised by every living mortal to the skies, and the Prince is eager to
thank you in person, and all our beauties of the White Rose are pulling
caps for you;--and you, the preux chevalier of the day, are stooping on
your horse's neck like a butter-woman riding to market, and looking as
black as a funeral!'
'I am sorry for poer Colonel Gardiner's death; he was once very kind to
me.'
'Why, then, be sorry for five minutes, and then be glad again; his
chance to-day may be ours to-morrow; and what does it signify? The
next best thing to victory is honourable death; but it is a PIS-ALLER,
and one would rather a foe had it than one's self.'
'But Colonel Talbot has informed me that my father and uncle are both
imprisoned by government on my account.'
'We'll put in bail, my boy; old Andrew Ferrara [Footnote: See Note 10.]
shall lodge his security; and I should like to see him put to justify it in
Westminster Hall!'
'Nay, they are already at liberty, upon bail of a more civic disposition.'
'Then why is thy noble spirit cast down, Edward? Dost think that the
Elector's ministers are such doves as to set their enemies at liberty at
this critical moment if they could or durst confine and punish them?
Assure thyself that either they have no charge against your relations on
which they can continue their imprisonment, or else they are afraid of
our friends, the jolly Cavaliers of old England. At any rate, you need
not be apprehensive upon their account; and we will find some means
of conveying to them assurances of your safety.'
Edward was silenced but not satisfied with these reasons. He had now
been more than once shocked at the small degree of sympathy which
Fergus exhibited for the feelings even of those whom he loved, if they
did not correspond with his own mood at the time, and more especially
if they thwarted him while earnest in a favourite pursuit. Fergus
sometimes indeed observed that he had offended Waverley, but, always
intent upon some favourite plan or project of his own, he was never
sufficiently aware of the extent or duration of his displeasure, so that
the reiteration of these petty offences somewhat cooled the volunteer's
extreme attachment to his officer.
The Chevalier received Waverley with his usual favour, and paid him
many compliments on his distinguished bravery. He then took him
apart, made many inquiries concerning Colonel Talbot, and when he
had received all the information which Edward was able to give
concerning him and his connexions, he proceeded--'I cannot but think,
Mr. Waverley, that since this gentleman is so particularly connected
with our worthy and excellent friend, Sir Everard Waverley, and since
his lady is of the house of Blandeville, whose devotion to the true and
loyal principles of the Church of England is so generally known, the
Colonel's own private sentiments cannot be unfavorable to us, whatever
mask he may have assumed to accommodate himself to the times.'
'If I am to judge from the language he this day held to me, I am under
the necessity of differing widely from your Royal Highness.'
'Well, it is worth making a trial at least. I therefore entrust you with the
charge of Colonel Talbot, with power to act concerning him as you
think most advisable; and I hope you will find means of ascertaining
what are his real dispositions towards our Royal Father's restoration.'
'I am convinced,' said Waverley, bowing,'that if Colonel Talbot chooses
to grant his parole, it may be securely depended upon; but if he refuses
it, I trust your Royal Highness will devolve on some other person than
the nephew of his friend the task of laying him under the necessary
restraint.'
'I will trust him with no person but you,' said the Prince, smiling, but
peremptorily repeating his mandate; 'it is of importance to my service
that there should appear to be a good intelligence between you, even if
you are unable to gain his confidence in earnest. You will therefore
receive him into your quarters, and in case he declines giving his parole,
you must apply for a proper guard. I beg you will go about this directly.
We return to Edinburgh tomorrow.'
Being thus remanded to the vicinity of Preston, Waverley lost the
Baron of Bradwardine's solemn act of homage. So little, however, was
he at this time in love with vanity, that he had quite forgotten the
ceremony in which Fergus had laboured to engage his curiosity. But
next day a formal 'Gazette' was circulated, containing a detailed
account of the battle of Gladsmuir, as the Highlanders chose to
denominate their victory. It concluded with an account of the court
afterwards held by the Chevalier at Pinkie House, which contained this
among other high-flown descriptive paragraphs:-'Since that fatal treaty which annihilates Scotland as an independent
nation, it has not been our happiness to see her princes receive, and her
nobles discharge, those acts of feudal homage which, founded upon the
splendid actions of Scottish valour, recall the memory of her early
history, with the manly and chivalrous simplicity of the ties which
united to the Crown the homage of the warriors by whom it was
repeatedly upheld and defended. But on the evening of the 20th our
memories were refreshed with one of those ceremonies which belong to
the ancient days of Scotland's glory. After the circle was formed,
Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine of that ilk, colonel in the service, etc.,
etc., etc., came before the Prince, attended by Mr. D. Macwheeble, the
Bailie of his ancient barony of Bradwardine (who, we understand, has
been lately named a commissary), and, under form of instrument,
claimed permission to perform to the person of his Royal Highness, as
representing his father, the service used and wont, for which, under a
charter of Robert Bruce (of which the original was produced and
inspected by the Masters of his Royal Highness's Chancery for the time
being), the claimant held the barony of Bradwardine and lands of
Tully-Veolan. His claim being admitted and registered, his Royal
Highness having placed his foot upon a cushion, the Baron of
Bradwardine, kneeling upon his right knee, proceeded to undo the
latchet of the brogue, or low-heeled Highland shoe, which our gallant
young hero wears in compliment to his brave followers. When this was
performed, his Royal Highness declared the ceremony completed; and,
embracing the gallant veteran, protested that nothing but compliance
with an ordinance of Robert Bruce could have induced him to receive
even the symbolical performance of a menial office from hands which
had fought so bravely to put the crown upon the head of his father. The
Baron of Bradwardine then took instruments in the hands of Mr.
Commissary Macwheeble, bearing that all points and circumstances of
the act of homage had been rite et solenniter acta et peracta; and a
corresponding entry was made in the protocol of the Lord High
Chamberlain and in the record of Chancery. We understand that it is in
contemplation of his Royal Highness, when his Majesty's pleasure can
be known, to raise Colonel Bradwardine to the peerage, by the title of
Viscount Bradwardine of Bradwardine and Tully-Veolan, and that, in
the meanwhile, his Royal Highness, in his father's name and authority,
has been pleased to grant him an honourable augmentation to his
paternal coat of arms, being a budget or boot-jack, disposed saltier-wise
with a naked broadsword, to be borne in the dexter cantle of the shield;
and, as an additional motto, on a scroll beneath, the words, "Draw and
draw off."'
'Were it not for the recollection of Fergus's raillery,' thought Waverley
to himself, when he had perused this long and grave document,' how
very tolerably would all this sound, and how little should I have
thought of connecting it with any ludicrous idea! Well, after all,
everything has its fair as well as its seamy side; and truly I do not see
why the Baron's boot-jack may not stand as fair in heraldry as the
water-buckets, waggons, cart-wheels, plough-socks, shuttles,
candlesticks, and other ordinaries, conveying ideas of anything save
chivalry, which appear in the arms of some of our most ancient gentry.'
This, however, is an episode in respect to the principal story.
When Waverley returned to Preston and rejoined Colonel Talbot, he
found him recovered from the strong and obvious emotions with which
a concurrence of unpleasing events had affected him. He had regained
his natural manner, which was that of an English gentleman and soldier,
manly, open and generous, but not unsusceptible of prejudice against
those of a different country, or who opposed him in political tenets.
When Waverley acquainted Colonel Talbot with the Chevalier's
purpose to commit him to his charge, 'I did not think to have owed so
much obligation to that young gentleman,' he said, 'as is implied in this
destination. I can at least cheerfully join in the prayer of the honest
Presbyterian clergyman, that, as he has come among us seeking an
earthly crown, his labours may be speedily rewarded with a heavenly
one. [Footnote: The clergyman's name was Mac-Vicar. Protected by the
cannon of the Castle, he preached every Sunday in the West Kirk while
the Highlanders were in possession of Edinburgh, and it was in
presence of some of the Jacobites that he prayed for Prince Charles
Edward in the terms quoted in the text.] I shall willingly give my parole
not to attempt an escape without your knowledge, since, in fact, it was
to meet you that I came to Scotland; and I am glad it has happened
even under this predicament. But I suppose we shall be but a short time
together. Your Chevalier (that is a name we may both give to him),
with his plaids and blue caps, will, I presume, be continuing his crusade
southward?'
'Not as I hear; I believe the army makes some stay in Edinburgh to
collect reinforcements.'
'And to besiege the Castle?' said Talbot, smiling sarcastically. 'Well,
unless my old commander, General Preston, turn false metal, or the
Castle sink into the North Loch, events which I deem equally probable,
I think we shall have some time to make up our acquaintance. I have a
guess that this gallant Chevalier has a design that I should be your
proselyte; and, as I wish you to be mine, there cannot be a more fair
proposal than to afford us fair conference together. But, as I spoke
today under the influence of feelings I rarely give way to, I hope you
will excuse my entering again upon controversy till we are somewhat
better acquainted.'
CHAPTER XXII
INTRIGUES OF LOVE AND POLITICS
It is not necessary to record in these pages the triumphant entrance of
the Chevalier into Edinburgh after the decisive affair at Preston. One
circumstance, however, may be noticed, because it illustrates the high
spirit of Flora Mac-Ivor. The Highlanders by whom the Prince was
surrounded, in the license and extravagance of this joyful moment,
fired their pieces repeatedly, and one of these having been accidentally
loaded with ball, the bullet grazed the young lady's temple as she
waved her handkerchief from a balcony. [Footnote: See Note 11.]
Fergus, who beheld the accident, was at her side in an instant; and, on
seeing that the wound was trifling, he drew his broadsword with the
purpose of rushing down upon the man by whose carelessness she had
incurred so much danger, when, holding him by the plaid, 'Do not harm
the poor fellow,' she cried; 'for Heaven's sake, do not harm him! but
thank God with me that the accident happened to Flora Mac-Ivor; for
had it befallen a Whig, they would have pretended that the shot was
fired on purpose.'
Waverley escaped the alarm which this accident would have
occasioned to him, as he was unavoidably delayed by the necessity of
accompanying Colonel Talbot to Edinburgh.
They performed the journey together on horseback, and for some time,
as if to sound each other's feelings and sentiments, they conversed upon
general and ordinary topics.
When Waverley again entered upon the subject which he had most at
heart, the situation, namely, of his father and his uncle, Colonel Talbot
seemed now rather desirous to alleviate than to aggravate his anxiety.
This appeared particularly to be the case when he heard Waverley's
history, which he did not scruple to confide to him.
'And so,' said the Colonel,'there has been no malice prepense, as
lawyers, I think, term it, in this rash step of yours; and you have been
trepanned into the service of this Italian knight-errant by a few civil
speeches from him and one or two of his Highland recruiting sergeants?
It is sadly foolish, to be sure, but not nearly so bad as I was led to
expect. However, you cannot desert, even from the Pretender, at the
present moment; that seems impossible. But I have little doubt that, in
the dissensions incident to this heterogeneous mass of wild and
desperate men, some opportunity may arise, by availing yourself of
which you may extricate yourself honourably from your rash
engagement before the bubble burst. If this can be managed, I would
have you go to a place of safety in Flanders which I shall point out.
And I think I can secure your pardon from government after a few
months' residence abroad.'
'I cannot permit you, Colonel Talbot,' answered Waverley, 'to speak of
any plan which turns on my deserting an enterprise in which I may
have engaged hastily, but certainly voluntarily, and with the purpose of
abiding the issue.'
'Well,' said Colonel Talbot, smiling, 'leave me my thoughts and hopes
at least at liberty, if not my speech. But have you never examined your
mysterious packet?'
'It is in my baggage,' replied Edward; 'we shall find it in Edinburgh.'
In Edinburgh they soon arrived. Waverley's quarters had been assigned
to him, by the Prince's express orders, in a handsome lodging, where
there was accommodation for Colonel Talbot. His first business was to
examine his portmanteau, and, after a very short search, out tumbled
the expected packet. Waverley opened it eagerly. Under a blank cover,
simply addressed to E. Waverley, Esq., he found a number of open
letters. The uppermost were two from Colonel Gardiner addressed to
himself. The earliest in date was a kind and gentle remonstrance for
neglect of the writer's advice respecting the disposal of his time during
his leave of absence, the renewal of which, he reminded Captain
Waverley, would speedily expire. 'Indeed,' the letter proceeded, 'had it
been otherwise, the news from abroad and my instructions from the
War Office must have compelled me to recall it, as there is great danger,
since the disaster in Flanders, both of foreign invasion and insurrection
among the disaffected at home. I therefore entreat you will repair as
soon as possible to the headquarters of the regiment; and I am
concerned to add that this is still the more necessary as there is some
discontent in your troop, and I postpone inquiry into particulars until I
can have the advantage of your assistance.'
The second letter, dated eight days later, was in such a style as might
have been expected from the Colonel's receiving no answer to the first.
It reminded Waverley of his duty as a man of honour, an officer, and a
Briton; took notice of the increasing dissatisfaction of his men, and that
some of them had been heard to hint that their Captain encouraged and
approved of their mutinous behaviour; and, finally, the writer expressed
the utmost regret and surprise that he had not obeyed his commands by
repairing to headquarters, reminded him that his leave of absence had
been recalled, and conjured him, in a style in which paternal
remonstrance was mingled with military authority, to redeem his error
by immediately joining his regiment. 'That I may be certain,' concluded
the letter, 'that this actually reaches you, I despatch it by Corporal Tims
of your troop, with orders to deliver it into your own hand.'
Upon reading these letters Waverley, with great bitterness of feeling,
was compelled to make the amende honorable to the memory of the
brave and excellent writer; for surely, as Colonel Gardiner must have
had every reason to conclude they had come safely to hand, less could
not follow, on their being neglected, than that third and final summons,
which Waverley actually received at Glennaquoich, though too late to
obey it. And his being superseded, in consequence of his apparent
neglect of this last command, was so far from being a harsh or severe
proceeding, that it was plainly inevitable. The next letter he unfolded
was from the major of the regiment, acquainting him that a report to the
disadvantage of his reputation was public in the country, stating, that
one Mr. Falconer of Ballihopple, or some such name, had proposed in
his presence a treasonable toast, which he permitted to pass in silence,
although it was so gross an affront to the royal family that a gentleman
in company, not remarkable for his zeal for government, had
never-the-less taken the matter up, and that, supposing the account true,
Captain Waverley had thus suffered another, comparatively
unconcerned, to resent an affront directed against him personally as an
officer, and to go out with the person by whom it was offered. The
major concluded that no one of Captain Waverley's brother officers
could believe this scandalous story, but that it was necessarily their
joint opinion that his own honour, equally with that of the regiment,
depended upon its being instantly contradicted by his authority, etc. etc.
etc.
'What do you think of all this?' said Colonel Talbot, to whom Waverley
handed the letters after he had perused them.
'Think! it renders thought impossible. It is enough to drive me mad.'
'Be calm, my young friend; let us see what are these dirty scrawls that
follow.'
The first was addressed,-'For Master W. Ruffin, These.'-'Dear sur, sum of our yong gulpins will not bite, thof I tuold them you
shoed me the squoire's own seel. But Tims will deliver you the lettrs as
desired, and tell ould Addem he gave them to squoir's bond, as to be
sure yours is the same, and shall be ready for signal, and hoy for Hoy
Church and Sachefrel, as fadur sings at harvestwhome. Yours, deer Sur,
'H. H.
'Poscriff.--Do'e tell squoire we longs to heer from him, and has
dootings about his not writing himself, and Lifetenant Bottler is
smoky.'
'This Ruffin, I suppose, then, is your Donald of the Cavern, who has
intercepted your letters, and carried on a correspondence with the poor
devil Houghton, as if under your authority?'
'It seems too true. But who can Addem be?'
'Possibly Adam, for poor Gardiner, a sort of pun on his name.'
The other letters were to the same purpose; and they soon received yet
more complete light upon Donald Bean's machinations.
John Hodges, one of Waverley's servants, who had remained with the
regiment and had been taken at Preston, now made his appearance. He
had sought out his master with the purpose of again entering his service.
From this fellow they learned that some time after Waverley had gone
from the headquarters of the regiment, a pedlar, called Ruthven, Rufnn,
or Rivane, known among the soldiers by the name of Wily Will, had
made frequent visits to the town of Dundee. He appeared to possess
plenty of money, sold his commodities very cheap, seemed always
willing to treat his friends at the ale-house, and easily ingratiated
himself with many of Waverley's troop, particularly Sergeant Houghton
and one Tims, also a non-commissioned officer. To these he unfolded,
in Waverley's name, a plan for leaving the regiment and joining him in
the Highlands, where report said the clans had already taken arms in
great numbers. The men, who had been educated as Jacobites, so far as
they had any opinion at all, and who knew their landlord, Sir Everard,
had always been supposed to hold such tenets, easily fell into the snare.
That Waverley was at a distance in the Highlands was received as a
sufficient excuse for transmitting his letters through the medium of the
pedlar; and the sight of his well-known seal seemed to authenticate the
negotiations in his name, where writing might have been dangerous.
The cabal, however, began to take air, from the premature mutinous
language of those concerned. Wily Will justified his appellative; for,
after suspicion arose, he was seen no more. When the 'Gazette'
appeared in which Waverley was superseded, great part of his troop
broke out into actual mutiny, but were surrounded and disarmed by the
rest of the regiment In consequence of the sentence of a court-martial,
Houghton and Tims were condemned to be shot, but afterwards
permitted to cast lots for life. Houghton, the survivor, showed much
penitence, being convinced, from the rebukes and explanations of
Colonel Gardiner, that he had really engaged in a very heinous crime. It
is remarkable that, as soon as the poor fellow was satisfied of this, he
became also convinced that the instigator had acted without authority
from Edward, saying, 'If it was dishonourable and against Old England,
the squire could know nought about it; he never did, or thought to do,
anything dishonourable, no more didn't Sir Everard, nor none of them
afore him, and in that belief he would live and die that Ruffin had done
it all of his own head.'
The strength of conviction with which he expressed himself upon this
subject, as well as his assurances that the letters intended for Waverley
had been delivered to Ruthven, made that revolution in Colonel
Gardiner's opinion which he expressed to Talbot.
The reader has long since understood that Donald Bean Lean played the
part of tempter on this occasion. His motives were shortly these. Of an
active and intriguing spirit, he had been long employed as a subaltern
agent and spy by those in the confidence of the Chevalier, to an extent
beyond what was suspected even by Fergus Mac-Ivor, whom, though
obliged to him for protection, he regarded with fear and dislike. To
success in this political department he naturally looked for raising
himself by some bold stroke above his present hazardous and
precarious trade of rapine. He was particularly employed in learning the
strength of the regiments in Scotland, the character of the officers, etc.,
and had long had his eye upon Waverley's troop as open to temptation.
Donald even believed that Waverley himself was at bottom in the
Stuart interest, which seemed confirmed by his long visit to the
Jacobite Baron of Bradwardine. When, therefore, he came to his cave
with one of Glennaquoich's attendants, the robber, who could never
appreciate his real motive, which was mere curiosity, was so sanguine
as to hope that his own talents were to be employed in some intrigue of
consequence, under the auspices of this wealthy young Englishman.
Nor was he undeceived by Waverley's neglecting all hints and openings
afforded for explanation. His conduct passed for prudent reserve, and
somewhat piqued Donald Bean, who, supposing himself left out of a
secret where confidence promised to be advantageous, determined to
have his share in the drama, whether a regular part were assigned him
or not. For this purpose during Waverley's sleep he possessed himself
of his seal, as a token to be used to any of the troopers whom he might
discover to be possessed of the captain's confidence. His first journey to
Dundee, the town where the regiment was quartered, undeceived him in
his original supposition, but opened to him a new field of action. He
knew there would be no service so well rewarded by the friends of the
Chevalier as seducing a part of the regular army to his standard. For
this purpose he opened the machinations with which the reader is
already acquainted, and which form a clue to all the intricacies and
obscurities of the narrative previous to Waverley's leaving
Glennaquoich.
By Colonel Talbot's advice, Waverley declined detaining in his service
the lad whose evidence had thrown additional light on these intrigues.
He represented to him, that it would be doing the man an injury to
engage him in a desperate undertaking, and that, whatever should
happen, his evidence would go some length at least in explaining the
circumstances under which Waverley himself had embarked in it.
Waverley therefore wrote a short state of what had happened to his
uncle and his father, cautioning them, however, in the present
circumstances, not to attempt to answer his letter. Talbot then gave the
young man a letter to the commander of one of the English vessels of
war cruising in the frith, requesting him to put the bearer ashore at
Berwick, with a pass to proceed to ----shire. He was then furnished
with money to make an expeditious journey, and directed to get on
board the ship by means of bribing a fishing-boat, which, as they
afterwards learned, he easily effected.
Tired of the attendance of Callum Beg, who, he thought, had some
disposition to act as a spy on his motions, Waverley hired as a servant a
simple Edinburgh swain, who had mounted the white cockade in a fit
of spleen and jealousy, because Jenny Jop had danced a whole night
with Corporal Bullock of the Fusileers.
CHAPTER XXIII
INTRIGUES OF SOCIETY AND LOVE
Colonel Talbot became more kindly in his demeanour towards
Waverley after the confidence he had reposed in him, and, as they were
necessarily much together, the character of the Colonel rose in
Waverley's estimation. There seemed at first something harsh in his
strong expressions of dislike and censure, although no one was in the
general case more open to conviction. The habit of authority had also
given his manners some peremptory hardness, notwithstanding the
polish which they had received from his intimate acquaintance with the
higher circles. As a specimen of the military character, he differed from
all whom Waverley had as yet seen. The soldiership of the Baron of
Bradwardine was marked by pedantry; that of Major Melville by a sort
of martinet attention to the minutiae and technicalities of discipline,
rather suitable to one who was to manoeuvre a battalion than to him
who was to command an army; the military spirit of Fergus was so
much warped and blended with his plans and political views, that it was
less that of a soldier than of a petty sovereign. But Colonel Talbot was
in every point the English soldier. His whole soul was devoted to the
service of his king and country, without feeling any pride in knowing
the theory of his art with the Baron, or its practical minutiae with the
Major, or in applying his science to his own particular plans of
ambition, like the Chieftain of Glennaquoich. Added to this, he was a
man of extended knowledge and cultivated taste, although strongly
tinged, as we have already observed, with those prejudices which are
peculiarly English.
The character of Colonel Talbot dawned upon Edward by degrees; for
the delay of the Highlanders in the fruitless siege of Edinburgh Castle
occupied several weeks, during which Waverley had little to do
excepting to seek such amusement as society afforded. He would
willingly have persuaded his new friend to become acquainted with
some of his former intimates. But the Colonel, after one or two visits,
shook his head, and declined farther experiment. Indeed he went farther,
and characterised the Baron as the most intolerable formal pedant he
had ever had the misfortune to meet with, and the Chief of
Glennaquoich as a Frenchified Scotchman, possessing all the cunning
and plausibility of the nation where he was educated, with the proud,
vindictive, and turbulent humour of that of his birth. 'If the devil,' he
said, 'had sought out an agent expressly for the purpose of embroiling
this miserable country, I do not think he could find a better than such a
fellow as this, whose temper seems equally active, supple, and
mischievous, and who is followed, and implicitly obeyed, by a gang of
such cut-throats as those whom you are pleased to admire so much.'
The ladies of the party did not escape his censure. He allowed that
Flora Mac-Ivor was a fine woman, and Rose Bradwardine a pretty girl.
But he alleged that the former destroyed the effect of her beauty by an
affectation of the grand airs which she had probably seen practised in
the mock court of St. Germains. As for Rose Bradwardine, he said it
was impossible for any mortal to admire such a little uninformed thing,
whose small portion of education was as ill adapted to her sex or youth
as if she had appeared with one of her father's old campaign-coats upon
her person for her sole garment. Now much of this was mere spleen and
prejudice in the excellent Colonel, with whom the white cockade on the
breast, the white rose in the hair, and the Mac at the beginning of a
name would have made a devil out of an angel; and indeed he himself
jocularly allowed that he could not have endured Venus herself if she
had been announced in a drawing-room by the name of Miss
Mac-Jupiter.
Waverley, it may easily be believed, looked upon these young ladies
with very different eyes. During the period of the siege he paid them
almost daily visits, although he observed with regret that his suit made
as little progress in the affections of the former as the arms of the
Chevalier in subduing the fortress. She maintained with rigour the rule
she had laid down of treating him with indifference, without either
affecting to avoid him or to shun intercourse with him. Every word,
every look, was strictly regulated to accord with her system, and neither
the dejection of Waverley nor the anger which Fergus scarcely
suppressed could extend Flora's attention to Edward beyond that which
the most ordinary politeness demanded. On the other hand, Rose
Bradwardine gradually rose in Waverley's opinion. He had several
opportunities of remarking that, as her extreme timidity wore off, her
manners assumed a higher character; that the agitating circumstances of
the stormy time seemed to call forth a certain dignity of feeling and
expression which he had not formerly observed; and that she omitted
no opportunity within her reach to extend her knowledge and refine her
taste.
Flora Mac-Ivor called Rose her pupil, and was attentive to assist her in
her studies, and to fashion both her taste and understanding. It might
have been remarked by a very close observer that in the presence of
Waverley she was much more desirous to exhibit her friend's
excellences than her own. But I must request of the reader to suppose
that this kind and disinterested purpose was concealed by the most
cautious delicacy, studiously shunning the most distant approach to
affectation. So that it was as unlike the usual exhibition of one pretty
woman affecting to proner another as the friendship of David and
Jonathan might be to the intimacy of two Bond Street loungers. The
fact is that, though the effect was felt, the cause could hardly be
observed. Each of the ladies, like two excellent actresses, were perfect
in their parts, and performed them to the delight of the audience; and
such being the case, it was almost impossible to discover that the elder
constantly ceded to her friend that which was most suitable to her
talents.
But to Waverley Rose Bradwardine possessed an attraction which few
men can resist, from the marked interest which she took in everything
that affected him. She was too young and too inexperienced to estimate
the full force of the constant attention which she paid to him. Her father
was too abstractedly immersed in learned and military discussions to
observe her partiality, and Flora Mac-Ivor did not alarm her by
remonstrance, because she saw in this line of conduct the most
probable chance of her friend securing at length a return of affection.
The truth is, that in her first conversation after their meeting Rose had
discovered the state of her mind to that acute and intelligent friend,
although she was not herself aware of it. From that time Flora was not
only determined upon the final rejection of Waverley's addresses, but
became anxious that they should, if possible, be transferred to her
friend. Nor was she less interested in this plan, though her brother had
from time to time talked, as between jest and earnest, of paying his suit
to Miss Bradwardine. She knew that Fergus had the true continental
latitude of opinion respecting the institution of marriage, and would not
have given his hand to an angel unless for the purpose of strengthening
his alliances and increasing his influence and wealth. The Baron's
whim of transferring his estate to the distant heir-male, instead of his
own daughter, was therefore likely to be an insurmountable obstacle to
his entertaining any serious thoughts of Rose Bradwardine. Indeed,
Fergus's brain was a perpetual workshop of scheme and intrigue, of
every possible kind and description; while, like many a mechanic of
more ingenuity than steadiness, he would often unexpectedly, and
without any apparent motive, abandon one plan and go earnestly to
work upon another, which was either fresh from the forge of his
imagination or had at some former period been flung aside half finished.
It was therefore often difficult to guess what line of conduct he might
finally adopt upon any given occasion.
Although Flora was sincerely attached to her brother, whose high
energies might indeed have commanded her admiration even without
the ties which bound them together, she was by no means blind to his
faults, which she considered as dangerous to the hopes of any woman
who should found her ideas of a happy marriage in the peaceful
enjoyment of domestic society and the exchange of mutual and
engrossing affection. The real disposition of Waverley, on the other
hand, notwithstanding his dreams of tented fields and military honour,
seemed exclusively domestic. He asked and received no share in the
busy scenes which were constantly going on around him, and was
rather annoyed than interested by the discussion of contending claims,
rights, and interests which often passed in his presence. All this pointed
him out as the person formed to make happy a spirit like that of Rose,
which corresponded with his own.
She remarked this point in Waverley's character one day while she sat
with Miss Bradwardine. 'His genius and elegant taste,' answered Rose,
'cannot be interested in such trifling discussions. What is it to him, for
example, whether the Chief of the Macindallaghers, who has brought
out only fifty men, should be a colonel or a captain? and how could Mr.
Waverley be supposed to interest himself in the violent altercation
between your brother and young Corrinaschian whether the post of
honour is due to the eldest cadet of a clan or the youngest?'
'My dear Rose, if he were the hero you suppose him he would interest
himself in these matters, not indeed as important in themselves, but for
the purpose of mediating between the ardent spirits who actually do
make them the subject of discord. You saw when Corrinaschian raised
his voice in great passion, and laid his hand upon his sword, Waverley
lifted his head as if he had just awaked from a dream, and asked with
great composure what the matter was.'
'Well, and did not the laughter they fell into at his absence of mind
serve better to break off the dispute than anything he could have said to
them?'
'True, my dear,' answered Flora; 'but not quite so creditably for
Waverley as if he had brought them to their senses by force of reason.'
'Would you have him peacemaker general between all the gunpowder
Highlanders in the army? I beg your pardon, Flora, your brother, you
know, is out of the question; he has more sense than half of them. But
can you think the fierce, hot, furious spirits of whose brawls we see
much and hear more, and who terrify me out of my life every day in the
world, are at all to be compared to Waverley?'
'I do not compare him with those uneducated men, my dear Rose. I
only lament that, with his talents and genius, he does not assume that
place in society for which they eminently fit him, and that he does not
lend their full impulse to the noble cause in which he has enlisted. Are
there not Lochiel, and P--, and M--, and G--, all men of the highest
education as well as the first talents,--why will he not stoop like them
to be alive and useful? I often believe his zeal is frozen by that proud
cold-blooded Englishman whom he now lives with so much.'
'Colonel Talbot? he is a very disagreeable person, to be sure. He looks
as if he thought no Scottish woman worth the trouble of handing her a
cup of tea. But Waverley is so gentle, so well informed--'
'Yes,' said Flora, smiling, 'he can admire the moon and quote a stanza
from Tasso.'
'Besides, you know how he fought,' added Miss Bradwardine.
'For mere fighting,' answered Flora,' I believe all men (that is, who
deserve the name) are pretty much alike; there is generally more
courage required to run away. They have besides, when confronted
with each other, a certain instinct for strife, as we see in other male
animals, such as dogs, bulls, and so forth. But high and perilous
enterprise is not Waverley's forte. He would never have been his
celebrated ancestor Sir Nigel, but only Sir Nigel's eulogist and poet. I
will tell you where he will be at home, my dear, and in his place--in the
quiet circle of domestic happiness, lettered indolence, and elegant
enjoyments of Waverley-Honour. And he will refit the old library in the
most exquisite Gothic taste, and garnish its shelves with the rarest and
most valuable volumes; and he will draw plans and landscapes, and
write verses, and rear temples, and dig grottoes; and he will stand in a
clear summer night in the colonnade before the hall, and gaze on the
deer as they stray in the moonlight, or lie shadowed by the boughs of
the huge old fantastic oaks; and he will repeat verses to his beautiful
wife, who will hang upon his arm;--and he will be a happy man.'
And she will be a happy woman, thought poor Rose. But she only
sighed and dropped the conversation.
CHAPTER XXIV
FERGUS A SUITOR
Waverley had, indeed, as he looked closer into the state of the
Chevalier's court, less reason to be satisfied with it. It contained, as
they say an acorn includes all the ramifications of the future oak, as
many seeds of tracasserie and intrigue as might have done honour to
the court of a large empire. Every person of consequence had some
separate object, which he pursued with a fury that Waverley considered
as altogether disproportioned to its importance. Almost all had their
reasons for discontent, although the most legitimate was that of the
worthy old Baron, who was only distressed on account of the common
cause.
'We shall hardly,' said he one morning to Waverley when they had been
viewing the Castle--'we shall hardly gain the obsidional crown, which
you wot well was made of the roots or grain which takes root within the
place besieged, or it may be of the herb woodbind, parietaria, or
pellitory; we shall not, I say, gain it by this same blockade or leaguer of
Edinburgh Castle.' For this opinion he gave most learned and
satisfactory reasons, that the reader may not care to hear repeated.
Having escaped from the old gentleman, Waverley went to Fergus's
lodgings by appointment, to await his return from Holyrood House. 'I
am to have a particular audience to-morrow,' said Fergus to Waverley
overnight, 'and you must meet me to wish me joy of the success which
I securely anticipate.'
The morrow came, and in the Chief's apartment he found Ensign
Maccombich waiting to make report of his turn of duty in a sort of
ditch which they had dug across the Castle-hill and called a trench. In a
short time the Chief's voice was heard on the stair in a tone of impatient
fury: 'Callum! why, Callum Beg! Diaoul!' He entered the room with all
the marks of a man agitated by a towering passion; and there were few
upon whose features rage produced a more violent effect. The veins of
his forehead swelled when he was in such agitation; his nostril became
dilated; his cheek and eye inflamed; and his look that of a demoniac.
These appearances of half-suppressed rage were the more frightful
because they were obviously caused by a strong effort to temper with
discretion an almost ungovernable paroxysm of passion, and resulted
from an internal conflict of the most dreadful kind, which agitated his
whole frame of mortality.
As he entered the apartment he unbuckled his broadsword, and
throwing it down with such violence that the weapon rolled to the other
end of the room, 'I know not what,' he exclaimed, 'withholds me from
taking a solemn oath that I will never more draw it in his cause. Load
my pistols, Callum, and bring them hither instantly--instantly!' Callum,
whom nothing ever startled, dismayed, or disconcerted, obeyed very
coolly. Evan Dhu, upon whose brow the suspicion that his Chief had
been insulted called up a corresponding storm, swelled in sullen silence,
awaiting to learn where or upon whom vengeance was to descend.
'So, Waverley, you are there,' said the Chief, after a moment's
recollection. 'Yes, I remember I asked you to share my triumph, and
you have come to witness my disappointment we shall call it.' Evan
now presented the written report he had in his hand, which Fergus
threw from him with great passion. 'I wish to God,' he said, 'the old den
would tumble down upon the heads of the fools who attack and the
knaves who defend it! I see, Waverley, you think I am mad. Leave us,
Evan, but be within call.'
'The Colonel's in an unco kippage,' said Mrs. Flockhart to Evan as he
descended; 'I wish he may be weel,--the very veins on his brent brow
are swelled like whipcord; wad he no tak something?'
'He usually lets blood for these fits,' answered the Highland ancient
with great composure.
When this officer left the room, the Chieftain gradually reassumed
some degree of composure. 'I know, Waverley,' he said, 'that Colonel
Talbot has persuaded you to curse ten times a day your engagement
with us; nay, never deny it, for I am at this moment tempted to curse
my own. Would you believe it, I made this very morning two suits to
the Prince, and he has rejected them both; what do you think of it?'
'What can I think,' answered Waverley,'till I know what your requests
were?' 'Why, what signifies what they were, man? I tell you it was I
that made them--I to whom he owes more than to any three who have
joined the standard; for I negotiated the whole business, and brought in
all the Perthshire men when not one would have stirred. I am not likely,
I think, to ask anything very unreasonable, and if I did, they might have
stretched a point. Well, but you shall know all, now that I can draw my
breath again with some freedom. You remember my earl's patent; it is
dated some years back, for services then rendered; and certainly my
merit has not been diminished, to say the least, by my subsequent
behaviour. Now, sir, I value this bauble of a coronet as little as you can,
or any philosopher on earth; for I hold that the chief of such a clan as
the Sliochd nan Ivor is superior in rank to any earl in Scotland. But I
had a particular reason for assuming this cursed title at this time. You
must know that I learned accidentally that the Prince has been pressing
that old foolish Baron of Bradwardine to disinherit his male heir, or
nineteenth or twentieth cousin, who has taken a command in the
Elector of Hanover's militia, and to settle his estate upon your pretty
little friend Rose; and this, as being the command of his king and
overlord, who may alter the destination of a fief at pleasure, the old
gentleman seems well reconciled to.'
'And what becomes of the homage?'
'Curse the homage! I believe Rose is to pull off the queen's slipper on
her coronation-day, or some such trash. Well, sir, as Rose Bradwardine
would always have made a suitable match for me but for this idiotical
predilection of her father for the heir-male, it occurred to me there now
remained no obstacle unless that the Baron might expect his daughter's
husband to take the name of Bradwardine (which you know would be
impossible in my case), and that this might be evaded by my assuming
the title to which I had so good a right, and which, of course, would
supersede that difficulty. If she was to be also Viscountess Bradwardine
in her own right after her father's demise, so much the better; I could
have no objection.'
'But, Fergus,' said Waverley, 'I had no idea that you had any affection
for Miss Bradwardine, and you are always sneering at her father.'
'I have as much affection for Miss Bradwardine, my good friend, as I
think it necessary to have for the future mistress of my family and the
mother of my children. She is a very pretty, intelligent girl, and is
certainly of one of the very first Lowland families; and, with a little of
Flora's instructions and forming, will make a very good figure. As to
her father, he is an original, it is true, and an absurd one enough; but he
has given such severe lessons to Sir Hew Halbert, that dear defunct the
Laird of Balmawhapple, and others, that nobody dare laugh at him, so
his absurdity goes for nothing. I tell you there could have been no
earthly objection--none. I had settled the thing entirely in my own
mind.'
'But had you asked the Baron's consent,' said Waverley, 'or Rose's?'
'To what purpose? To have spoke to the Baron before I had assumed
my title would have only provoked a premature and irritating
discussion on the subject of the change of name, when, as Earl of
Glennaquoich, I had only to propose to him to carry his d--d bear and
bootjack party per pale, or in a scutcheon of pretence, or in a separate
shield perhaps--any way that would not blemish my own coat of arms.
And as to Rose, I don't see what objection she could have made if her
father was satisfied.'
'Perhaps the same that your sister makes to me, you being satisfied.'
Fergus gave a broad stare at the comparison which this supposition
implied, but cautiously suppressed the answer which rose to his tongue.
'O, we should easily have arranged all that. So, sir, I craved a private
interview, and this morning was assigned; and I asked you to meet me
here, thinking, like a fool, that I should want your countenance as
bride's-man. Well, I state my pretension--they are not denied; the
promises so repeatedly made and the patent granted--they are
acknowledged. But I propose, as a natural consequence, to assume the
rank which the patent bestowed. I have the old story of the jealousy of
C----and M----trumped up against me. I resist this pretext, and offer to
procure their written acquiescence, in virtue of the date of my patent as
prior to their silly claims; I assure you I would have had such a consent
from them, if it had been at the point of the sword. And then out comes
the real truth; and he dares to tell me to my face that my patent must be
suppressed for the present, for fear of disgusting that rascally coward
and faineant (naming the rival chief of his own clan), who has no better
title to be a chieftain than I to be Emperor of China, and who is pleased
to shelter his dastardly reluctance to come out, agreeable to his promise
twenty times pledged, under a pretended jealousy of the Prince's
partiality to me. And, to leave this miserable driveller without a
pretence for his cowardice, the Prince asks it as a personal favour of me,
forsooth, not to press my just and reasonable request at this moment.
After this, put your faith in princes!'
'And did your audience end here?'
'End? O no! I was determined to leave him no pretence for his
ingratitude, and I therefore stated, with all the composure I could
muster,--for I promise you I trembled with passion,--the particular
reasons I had for wishing that his Royal Highness would impose upon
me any other mode of exhibiting my duty and devotion, as my views in
life made what at any other time would have been a mere trifle at this
crisis a severe sacrifice; and then I explained to him my full plan.'
'And what did the Prince answer?'
'Answer? why--it is well it is written, "Curse not the king, no, not in thy
thought!"--why, he answered that truly he was glad I had made him my
confidant, to prevent more grievous disappointment, for he could
assure me, upon the word of a prince, that Miss Bradwardine's
affections were engaged, and he was under a particular promise to
favour them. "So, my dear Fergus," said he, with his most gracious cast
of smile, "as the marriage is utterly out of question, there need be no
hurry, you know, about the earldom." And so he glided off and left me
plante la.'
'And what did you do?'
'I'll tell you what I COULD have done at that moment--sold myself to
the devil or the Elector, whichever offered the dearest revenge.
However, I am now cool. I know he intends to marry her to some of his
rascally Frenchmen or his Irish officers, but I will watch them close;
and let the man that would supplant me look well to himself. Bisogna
coprirsi, Signor.'
After some further conversation, unnecessary to be detailed, Waverley
took leave of the Chieftain, whose fury had now subsided into a deep
and strong desire of vengeance, and returned home, scarce able to
analyse the mixture of feelings which the narrative had awakened in his
own bosom.
CHAPTER XXV
'TO ONE THING CONSTANT NEVER'
'I am the very child of caprice,'said Waverley to himself, as he bolted
the door of his apartment and paced it with hasty steps. 'What is it to
me that Fergus Mac-Ivor should wish to marry Rose Bradwardine? I
love her not; I might have been loved by her perhaps; but rejected her
simple, natural, and affecting attachment, instead of cherishing it into
tenderness, and dedicated myself to one who will never love mortal
man, unless old Warwick, the King-maker, should arise from the dead
The Baron too--I would not have cared about his estate, and so the
name would have been no stumbling-block. The devil might have taken
the barren moors and drawn off the royal caligae for anything I would
have minded. But, framed as she is for domestic affection and
tenderness, for giving and receiving all those kind and quiet attentions
which sweeten life to those who pass it together, she is sought by
Fergus Mac-Ivor. He will not use her ill, to be sure; of that he is
incapable. But he will neglect her after the first month; he will be too
intent on subduing some rival chieftain or circumventing some
favourite at court, on gaining some heathy hill and lake or adding to his
bands some new troop of caterans, to inquire what she does, or how she
amuses herself. And then will canker sorrow eat her bud, And chase the
native beauty from her cheek; And she will look as hollow as a ghost,
And dim and meagre as an ague fit, And so she'll die. And such a
catastrophe of the most gentle creature on earth might have been
prevented if Mr. Edward Waverley had had his eyes! Upon my word, I
cannot understand how I thought Flora so much, that is, so very much,
handsomer than Rose. She is taller indeed, and her manner more
formed; but many people think Miss Bradwardine's more natural; and
she is certainly much younger. I should think Flora is two years older
than I am. I will look at them particularly this evening.'
And with this resolution Waverley went to drink tea (as the fashion was
Sixty Years Since) at the house of a lady of quality attached to the
cause of the Chevalier, where he found, as he expected, both the ladies.
All rose as he entered, but Flora immediately resumed her place and the
conversation in which she was engaged. Rose, on the contrary, almost
imperceptibly made a little way in the crowded circle for his advancing
the corner of a chair. 'Her manner, upon the whole, is most engaging,'
said Waverley to himself.
A dispute occurred whether the Gaelic or Italian language was most
liquid, and best adapted for poetry; the opinion for the Gaelic, which
probably might not have found supporters elsewhere, was here fiercely
defended by seven Highland ladies, who talked at the top of their lungs,
and screamed the company deaf with examples of Celtic euphonia.
Flora, observing the Lowland ladies sneer at the comparison, produced
some reasons to show that it was not altogether so absurd; but Rose,
when asked for her opinion, gave it with animation in praise of Italian,
which she had studied with Waverley's assistance. "She has a more
correct ear than Flora, though a less accomplished musician," said
Waverley to himself. 'I suppose Miss Mac-Ivor will next compare
Mac-Murrough nan Fonn to Ariosto!'
Lastly, it so befell that the company differed whether Fergus should be
asked to perform on the flute, at which he was an adept, or Waverley
invited to read a play of Shakspeare; and the lady of the house
good-humouredly undertook to collect the votes of the company for
poetry or music, under the condition that the gentleman whose talents
were not laid under contribution that evening should contribute them to
enliven the next. It chanced that Rose had the casting vote. Now Flora,
who seemed to impose it as a rule upon herself never to countenance
any proposal which might seem to encourage Waverley, had voted for
music, providing the Baron would take his violin to accompany Fergus.
'I wish you joy of your taste, Miss Mac-Ivor,' thought Edward, as they
sought for his book. 'I thought it better when we were at Glennaquoich;
but certainly the Baron is no great performer, and Shakspeare is worth
listening to.'
'Romeo and Juliet' was selected, and Edward read with taste, feeling,
and spirit several scenes from that play. All the company applauded
with their hands, and many with their tears. Flora, to whom the drama
was well known, was among the former; Rose, to whom it was
altogether new, belonged to the latter class of admirers. 'She has more
feeling too,' said Waverley, internally.
The conversation turning upon the incidents of the play and upon the
characters, Fergus declared that the only one worth naming, as a man of
fashion and spirit, was Mercutio. 'I could not,' he said, 'quite follow all
his old-fashioned wit, but he must have been a very pretty fellow,
according to the ideas of his time.'
'And it was a shame,' said Ensign Maccombich, who usually followed
his Colonel everywhere, 'for that Tibbert, or Taggart, or whatever was
his name, to stick him under the other gentleman's arm while he was
redding the fray.'
The ladies, of course, declared loudly in favour of Romeo, but this
opinion did not go undisputed. The mistress of the house and several
other ladies severely reprobated the levity with which the hero transfers
his affections from Rosalind to Juliet. Flora remained silent until her
opinion was repeatedly requested, and then answered, she thought the
circumstance objected to not only reconcilable to nature, but such as in
the highest degree evinced the art of the poet. 'Romeo is described,' said
she, 'as a young man peculiarly susceptible of the softer passions; his
love is at first fixed upon a woman who could afford it no return; this
he repeatedly tells you,-From love's weak, childish bow she lives unharmed,
and again-She hath forsworn to love.
Now, as it was impossible that Romeo's love, supposing him a
reasonable being, could continue to subsist without hope, the poet has,
with great art, seized the moment when he was reduced actually to
despair to throw in his way an object more accomplished than her by
whom he had been rejected, and who is disposed to repay his
attachment. I can scarce conceive a situation more calculated to
enhance the ardour of Romeo's affection for Juliet than his being at
once raised by her from the state of drooping melancholy in which he
appears first upon the scene to the ecstatic state in which he exclaims--
--come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That
one short moment gives me in her sight.'
'Good now, Miss Mac-Ivor,' said a young lady of quality, 'do you mean
to cheat us out of our prerogative? will you persuade us love cannot
subsist without hope, or that the lover must become fickle if the lady is
cruel? O fie! I did not expect such an unsentimental conclusion.'
'A lover, my dear Lady Betty,' said Flora, 'may, I conceive, persevere in
his suit under very discouraging circumstances. Affection can (now and
then) withstand very severe storms of rigour, but not a long polar frost
of downright indifference. Don't, even with YOUR attractions, try the
experiment upon any lover whose faith you value. Love will subsist on
wonderfully little hope, but not altogether without it.'
'It will be just like Duncan Mac-Girdie's mare,' said Evan, 'if your
ladyships please, he wanted to use her by degrees to live without meat,
and just as he had put her on a straw a day the poor thing died!'
Evan's illustration set the company a-laughing, and the discourse took a
different turn. Shortly afterwards the party broke up, and Edward
returned home, musing on what Flora had said. 'I will love my Rosalind
no more,' said he; 'she has given me a broad enough hint for that; and I
will speak to her brother and resign my suit. But for a Juliet--would it
be handsome to interfere with Fergus's pretensions? though it is
impossible they can ever succeed; and should they miscarry, what then?
why then alors comme alors.' And with this resolution of being guided
by circumstances did our hero commit himself to repose.
CHAPTER XXVI
A BRAVE MAN IN SORROW
If my fair readers should be of opinion that my hero's levity in love is
altogether unpardonable, I must remind them that all his griefs and
difficulties did not arise from that sentimental source. Even the lyric
poet who complains so feelingly of the pains of love could not forget,
that at the same time he was 'in debt and in drink,' which, doubtless,
were great aggravations of his distress. There were, indeed, whole days
in which Waverley thought neither of Flora nor Rose Bradwardine, but
which were spent in melancholy conjectures on the probable state of
matters at Waverley-Honour, and the dubious issue of the civil contest
in which he was pledged. Colonel Talbot often engaged him in
discussions upon the justice of the cause he had espoused. 'Not,' he said,
'that it is possible for you to quit it at this present moment, for, come
what will, you must stand by your rash engagement. But I wish you to
be aware that the right is not with you; that you are fighting against the
real interests of your country; and that you ought, as an Englishman
and a patriot, to take the first opportunity to leave this unhappy
expedition before the snowball melts.'
In such political disputes Waverley usually opposed the common
arguments of his party, with which it is unnecessary to trouble the
reader. But he had little to say when the Colonel urged him to compare
the strength by which they had undertaken to overthrow the
government with that which was now assembling very rapidly for its
support. To this statement Waverley had but one answer: 'If the cause I
have undertaken be perilous, there would be the greater disgrace in
abandoning it.' And in his turn he generally silenced Colonel Talbot,
and succeeded in changing the subject.
One night, when, after a long dispute of this nature, the friends had
separated and our hero had retired to bed, he was awakened about
midnight by a suppressed groan. He started up and listened; it came
from the apartment of Colonel Talbot, which was divided from his own
by a wainscotted partition, with a door of communication. Waverley
approached this door and distinctly heard one or two deep-drawn sighs.
What could be the matter? The Colonel had parted from him apparently
in his usual state of spirits. He must have been taken suddenly ill.
Under this impression he opened the door of communication very
gently, and perceived the Colonel, in his night-gown, seated by a table,
on which lay a letter and a picture. He raised his head hastily, as
Edward stood uncertain whether to advance or retire, and Waverley
perceived that his cheeks were stained with tears.
As if ashamed at being found giving way to such emotion, Colonel
Talbot rose with apparent displeasure and said, with some sternness, 'I
think, Mr. Waverley, my own apartment and the hour might have
secured even a prisoner against--'
'Do not say INTRUSION, Colonel Talbot; I heard you breathe hard and
feared you were ill; that alone could have induced me to break in upon
you.'
'I am well,' said the Colonel, 'perfectly well.'
'But you are distressed,' said Edward; 'is there anything can be done?'
'Nothing, Mr. Waverley; I was only thinking of home, and some
unpleasant occurrences there.'
'Good God, my uncle!' exclaimed Waverley.
'No, it is a grief entirely my own. I am ashamed you should have seen it
disarm me so much; but it must have its course at times, that it may be
at others more decently supported. I would have kept it secret from you;
for I think it will grieve you, and yet you can administer no consolation.
But you have surprised me,--I see you are surprised yourself,--and I
hate mystery. Read that letter.'
The letter was from Colonel Talbot's sister, and in these words:-'I received yours, my dearest brother, by Hodges. Sir E. W. and Mr. R.
are still at large, but are not permitted to leave London. I wish to
Heaven I could give you as good an account of matters in the square.
But the news of the unhappy affair at Preston came upon us, with the
dreadful addition that you were among the fallen. You know Lady
Emily's state of health, when your friendship for Sir E. induced you to
leave her. She was much harassed with the sad accounts from Scotland
of the rebellion having broken out; but kept up her spirits, as, she said,
it became your wife, and for the sake of the future heir, so long hoped
for in vain. Alas, my dear brother, these hopes are now ended!
Notwithstanding all my watchful care, this unhappy rumour reached
her without preparation. She was taken ill immediately; and the poor
infant scarce survived its birth. Would to God this were all! But
although the contradiction of the horrible report by your own letter has
greatly revived her spirits, yet Dr. ----apprehends, I grieve to say,
serious, and even dangerous, consequences to her health, especially
from the uncertainty in which she must necessarily remain for some
time, aggravated by the ideas she has formed of the ferocity of those
with whom you are a prisoner.
'Do therefore, my dear brother, as soon as this reaches you, endeavour
to gain your release, by parole, by ransom, or any way that is
practicable. I do not exaggerate Lady Emily's state of health; but I must
not--dare not--suppress the truth. Ever, my dear Philip, your most
affectionate sister,
'Lucy TALBOT.'
Edward stood motionless when he had perused this letter; for the
conclusion was inevitable, that, by the Colonel's journey in quest of
him, he had incurred this heavy calamity. It was severe enough, even in
its irremediable part; for Colonel Talbot and Lady Emily, long without
a family, had fondly exulted in the hopes which were now blasted. But
this disappointment was nothing to the extent of the threatened evil;
and Edward, with horror, regarded himself as the original cause of
both.
Ere he could collect himself sufficiently to speak, Colonel Talbot had
recovered his usual composure of manner, though his troubled eye
denoted his mental agony.
'She is a woman, my young friend, who may justify even a soldier's
tears.' He reached him the miniature, exhibiting features which fully
justified the eulogium; 'and yet, God knows, what you see of her there
is the least of the charms she possesses--possessed, I should perhaps
say--but God's will be done.'
'You must fly--you must fly instantly to her relief. It is not--it shall not
be too late.'
'Fly? how is it possible? I am a prisoner, upon parole.'
'I am your keeper; I restore your parole; I am to answer for you.'
'You cannot do so consistently with your duty; nor can I accept a
discharge from you, with due regard to my own honour; you would be
made responsible.'
'I will answer it with my head, if necessary,' said Waverley impetuously.
'I have been the unhappy cause of the loss of your child, make me not
the murderer of your wife.'
'No, my dear Edward,' said Talbot, taking him kindly by the hand, 'you
are in no respect to blame; and if I concealed this domestic distress for
two days, it was lest your sensibility should view it in that light. You
could not think of me, hardly knew of my existence, when I left
England in quest of you. It is a responsibility, Heaven knows,
sufficiently heavy for mortality, that we must answer for the foreseen
and direct result of our actions; for their indirect and consequential
operation the great and good Being, who alone can foresee the
dependence of human events on each other, hath not pronounced his
frail creatures liable.'
'But that you should have left Lady Emily,' said Waverley, with much
emotion, 'in the situation of all others the most interesting to a husband,
to seek a--'
'I only did my duty,' answered Colonel Talbot, calmly, 'and I do not,
ought not, to regret it. If the path of gratitude and honour were always
smooth and easy, there would be little merit in following it; but it
moves often in contradiction to our interest and passions, and
sometimes to our better affections. These are the trials of life, and this,
though not the least bitter' (the tears came unbidden to his eyes), 'is not
the first which it has been my fate to encounter. But we will talk of this
to-morrow,' he said, wringing Waverley's hands. 'Good-night; strive to
forget it for a few hours. It will dawn, I think, by six, and it is now past
two. Good-night.'
Edward retired, without trusting his voice with a reply.
CHAPTER XXVII
EXERTION
When Colonel Talbot entered the breakfast-parlour next morning, he
learned from Waverley's servant that our hero had been abroad at an
early hour and was not yet returned. The morning was well advanced
before he again appeared. He arrived out of breath, but with an air of
joy that astonished Colonel Talbot.
'There,' said he, throwing a paper on the table, 'there is my morning's
work. Alick, pack up the Colonel's clothes. Make haste, make haste.'
The Colonel examined the paper with astonishment. It was a pass from
the Chevalier to Colonel Talbot, to repair to Leith, or any other port in
possession of his Royal Highness's troops, and there to embark for
England or elsewhere, at his free pleasure; he only giving his parole of
honour not to bear arms against the house of Stuart for the space of a
twelve-month.
'In the name of God,' said the Colonel, his eyes sparkling with
eagerness, 'how did you obtain this?'
'I was at the Chevalier's levee as soon as he usually rises. He was gone
to the camp at Duddingston. I pursued him thither, asked and obtained
an audience--but I will tell you not a word more, unless I see you begin
to pack.'
'Before I know whether I can avail myself of this passport, or how it
was obtained?'
'O, you can take out the things again, you know. Now I see you busy, I
will go on. When I first mentioned your name, his eyes sparkled almost
as bright as yours did two minutes since. "Had you," he earnestly asked,
"shown any sentiments favourable to his cause?" "Not in the least, nor
was there any hope you would do so." His countenance fell. I requested
your freedom. "Impossible," he said; "your importance as a friend and
confidant of such and such personages made my request altogether
extravagant." I told him my own story and yours; and asked him to
judge what my feelings must be by his own. He has a heart, and a kind
one, Colonel Talbot, you may say what you please. He took a sheet of
paper and wrote the pass with his own hand. "I will not trust myself
with my council," he said; "they will argue me out of what is right. I
will not endure that a friend, valued as I value you, should be loaded
with the painful reflections which must afflict you in case of further
misfortune in Colonel Talbot's family; nor will I keep a brave enemy a
prisoner under such circumstances. Besides," said he, "I think I can
justify myself to my prudent advisers by pleading the good effect such
lenity will produce on the minds of the great English families with
whom Colonel Talbot is connected."'
'There the politician peeped out,' said the Colonel.
'Well, at least he concluded like a king's son: "Take the passport; I have
added a condition for form's sake; but if the Colonel objects to it, let
him depart without giving any parole whatever. I come here to war with
men, but not to distress or endanger women."'
'Well, I never thought to have been so much indebted to the Pretend--'
'To the Prince,' said Waverley, smiling.
'To the Chevalier,' said the Colonel; 'it is a good travelling name, and
which we may both freely use. Did he say anything more?'
'Only asked if there was anything else he could oblige me in; and when
I replied in the negative, he shook me by the hand, and wished all his
followers were as considerate, since some friends of mine not only
asked all he had to bestow, but many things which were entirely out of
his power, or that of the greatest sovereign upon earth. Indeed, he said,
no prince seemed, in the eyes of his followers, so like the Deity as
himself, if you were to judge from the extravagant requests which they
daily preferred to him.'
'Poor young gentleman,' said the Colonel, 'I suppose he begins to feel
the difficulties of his situation. Well, dear Waverley, this is more than
kind, and shall not be forgotten while Philip Talbot can remember
anything. My life--pshaw--let Emily thank you for that; this is a favour
worth fifty lives. I cannot hesitate on giving my parole in the
circumstances; there it is (he wrote it out in form). And now, how am I
to get off?'
'All that is settled: your baggage is packed, my horses wait, and a boat
has been engaged, by the Prince's permission, to put you on board the
Fox frigate. I sent a messenger down to Leith on purpose.'
'That will do excellently well. Captain Beaver is my particular friend;
he will put me ashore at Berwick or Shields, from whence I can ride
post to London; and you must entrust me with the packet of papers
which you recovered by means of your Miss Bean Lean. I may have an
opportunity of using them to your advantage. But I see your Highland
friend, Glen ---- what do you call his barbarous name? and his orderly
with him; I must not call him his orderly cut-throat any more, I suppose.
See how he walks as if the world were his own, with the bonnet on one
side of his head and his plaid puffed out across his breast! I should like
now to meet that youth where my hands were not tied: I would tame his
pride, or he should tame mine.'
'For shame, Colonel Talbot! you swell at sight of tartan as the bull is
said to do at scarlet. You and Mac-Ivor have some points not much
unlike, so far as national prejudice is concerned.'
The latter part of this discourse took place in the street. They passed the
Chief, the Colonel and he sternly and punctiliously greeting each other,
like two duellists before they take their ground. It was evident the
dislike was mutual. 'I never see that surly fellow that dogs his heels,'
said the Colonel, after he had mounted his horse, 'but he reminds me of
lines I have somewhere heard--upon the stage, I think:-Close behind him Stalks sullen Bertram, like a sorcerer's fiend,
Pressing to be employed.
'I assure you, Colonel,' said Waverley, 'that you judge too harshly of the
Highlanders.'
'Not a whit, not a whit; I cannot spare them a jot; I cannot bate them an
ace. Let them stay in their own barren mountains, and puff and swell,
and hang their bonnets on the horns of the moon, if they have a mind;
but what business have they to come where people wear breeches, and
speak an intelligible language? I mean intelligible in comparison to
their gibberish, for even the Lowlanders talk a kind of English little
better than the Negroes in Jamaica. I could pity the Pr----, I mean the,
Chevalier himself, for having so many desperadoes about him. And
they learn their trade so early. There is a kind of subaltern imp, for
example, a sort of sucking devil, whom your friend
Glena----Glenamuck there, has sometimes in his train. To look at him,
he is about fifteen years; but he is a century old in mischief and villainy.
He was playing at quoits the other day in the court; a gentleman, a
decent-looking person enough, came past, and as a quoit hit his shin, he
lifted his cane; but my young bravo whips out his pistol, like Beau
Clincher in the "Trip to the Jubilee," and had not a scream of Gardez
l'eau from an upper window set all parties a-scampering for fear of the
inevitable consequences, the poor gentleman would have lost his life by
the hands of that little cockatrice.'
'A fine character you'll give of Scotland upon your return, Colonel
Talbot.'
'O, Justice Shallow,' said the Colonel, 'will save me the
trouble--"Barren, barren, beggars all, beggars all. Marry, good
air,"--and that only when you are fairly out of Edinburgh, and not yet
come to Leith, as is our case at present.'
In a short time they arrived at the seaport.
The boat rock'd at the pier of Leith, Full loud the wind blew down the
ferry; The ship rode at the Berwick Law.
'Farewell, Colonel; may you find all as you would wish it! Perhaps we
may meet sooner than you expect; they talk of an immediate route to
England.'
'Tell me nothing of that,' said Talbot; 'I wish to carry no news of your
motions.'
'Simply, then, adieu. Say, with a thousand kind greetings, all that is
dutiful and affectionate to Sir Everard and Aunt Rachel. Think of me as
kindly as you can, speak of me as indulgently as your conscience will
permit, and once more adieu.'
'And adieu, my dear Waverley; many, many thanks for your kindness.
Unplaid yourself on the first opportunity. I shall ever think on you with
gratitude, and the worst of my censure shall be, Que diable alloit--il
faire dans cette galere?'
And thus they parted, Colonel Talbot going on board of the boat and
Waverley returning to Edinburgh.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE MARCH
It is not our purpose to intrude upon the province of history. We shall
therefore only remind our readers that about the beginning of
November the Young Chevalier, at the head of about six thousand men
at the utmost, resolved to peril his cause on an attempt to penetrate into
the centre of England, although aware of the mighty preparations which
were made for his reception. They set forward on this crusade in
weather which would have rendered any other troops incapable of
marching, but which in reality gave these active mountaineers
advantages over a less hardy enemy. In defiance of a superior army
lying upon the Borders, under Field-Marshal Wade, they besieged and
took Carlisle, and soon afterwards prosecuted their daring march to the
southward.
As Colonel Mac-Ivor's regiment marched in the van of the clans, he
and Waverley, who now equalled any Highlander in the endurance of
fatigue, and was become somewhat acquainted with their language,
were perpetually at its head. They marked the progress of the army,
however, with very different eyes. Fergus, all air and fire, and confident
against the world in arms, measured nothing but that every step was a
yard nearer London. He neither asked, expected, nor desired any aid
except that of the clans to place the Stuarts once more on the throne;
and when by chance a few adherents joined the standard, he always
considered them in the light of new claimants upon the favours of the
future monarch, who, he concluded, must therefore subtract for their
gratification so much of the bounty which ought to be shared among his
Highland followers.
Edward's views were very different. He could not but observe that in
those towns in which they proclaimed James the Third, 'no man cried,
God bless him.' The mob stared and listened, heartless, stupefied, and
dull, but gave few signs even of that boisterous spirit which induces
them to shout upon all occasions for the mere exercise of their most
sweet voices. The Jacobites had been taught to believe that the
north-western counties abounded with wealthy squires and hardy
yeomen, devoted to the cause of the White Rose. But of the wealthier
Tories they saw little. Some fled from their houses, some feigned
themselves sick, some surrendered themselves to the government as
suspected persons. Of such as remained, the ignorant gazed with
astonishment, mixed with horror and aversion, at the wild appearance,
unknown language, and singular garb of the Scottish clans. And to the
more prudent their scanty numbers, apparent deficiency in discipline,
and poverty of equipment seemed certain tokens of the calamitous
termination of their rash undertaking. Thus the few who joined them
were such as bigotry of political principle blinded to consequences, or
whose broken fortunes induced them to hazard all on a risk so
desperate.
The Baron of Bradwardine, being asked what he thought of these
recruits, took a long pinch of snuff, and answered drily,'that he could
not but have an excellent opinion of them, since they resembled
precisely the followers who attached themselves to the good King
David at the cave of Adullam--videlicet, every one that was in distress,
and every one that was in debt, and every one that was discontented,
which the vulgate renders bitter of soul; and doubtless,' he said, 'they
will prove mighty men of their hands, and there is much need that they
should, for I have seen many a sour look cast upon us.'
But none of these considerations moved Fergus. He admired the
luxuriant beauty of the country, and the situation of many of the seats
which they passed. 'Is Waverley-Honour like that house, Edward?'
'It is one-half larger.'
'Is your uncle's park as fine a one as that?'
'It is three times as extensive, and rather resembles a forest than a mere
park.'
'Flora will be a happy woman.'
'I hope Miss Mac-Ivor will have much reason for happiness
unconnected with Waverley-Honour.'
'I hope so too; but to be mistress of such a place will be a pretty
addition to the sum total.'
'An addition, the want of which, I trust, will be amply supplied by some
other means.'
'How,' said Fergus, stopping short and turning upon Waverley--'how
am I to understand that, Mr. Waverley? Had I the pleasure to hear you
aright?'
'Perfectly right, Fergus.'
'And am I to understand that you no longer desire my alliance and my
sister's hand?'
'Your sister has refused mine,' said Waverley, 'both directly and by all
the usual means by which ladies repress undesired attentions.'
'I have no idea,' answered the Chieftain, 'of a lady dismissing or a
gentleman withdrawing his suit, after it has been approved of by her
legal guardian, without giving him an opportunity of talking the matter
over with the lady. You did not, I suppose, expect my sister to drop into
your mouth like a ripe plum the first moment you chose to open it?'
'As to the lady's title to dismiss her lover, Colonel,' replied Edward, 'it
is a point which you must argue with her, as I am ignorant of the
customs of the Highlands in that particular. But as to my title to
acquiesce in a rejection from her without an appeal to your interest, I
will tell you plainly, without meaning to undervalue Miss Mac-Ivor's
admitted beauty and accomplishments, that I would not take the hand
of an angel, with an empire for her dowry, if her consent were extorted
by the importunity of friends and guardians, and did not flow from her
own free inclination.'
'An angel, with the dowry of an empire,' repeated Fergus, in a tone of
bitter irony, 'is not very likely to be pressed upon a ----shire squire. But,
sir,' changing his tone, 'if Flora Mac-Ivor have not the dowry of an
empire, she is MY sister; and that is sufficient at least to secure her
against being treated with anything approaching to levity.'
'She is Flora Mac-Ivor, sir,' said Waverley, with firmness, 'which to me,
were I capable of treating ANY woman with levity, would be a more
effectual protection.'
The brow of the Chieftain was now fully clouded; but Edward felt too
indignant at the unreasonable tone which he had adopted to avert the
storm by the least concession. They both stood still while this short
dialogue passed, and Fergus seemed half disposed to say something
more violent, but, by a strong effort, suppressed his passion, and,
turning his face forward, walked sullenly on. As they had always
hitherto walked together, and almost constantly side by side, Waverley
pursued his course silently in the same direction, determined to let the
Chief take his own time in recovering the good-humour which he had
so unreasonably discarded, and firm in his resolution not to bate him an
inch of dignity.
After they had marched on in this sullen manner about a mile, Fergus
resumed the discourse in a different tone. 'I believe I was warm, my
dear Edward, but you provoke me with your want of knowledge of the
world. You have taken pet at some of Flora's prudery, or high-flying
notions of loyalty, and now, like a child, you quarrel with the plaything
you have been crying for, and beat me, your faithful keeper, because
my arm cannot reach to Edinburgh to hand it to you. I am sure, if I was
passionate, the mortification of losing the alliance of such a friend, after
your arrangement had been the talk of both Highlands and Lowlands,
and that without so much as knowing why or wherefore, might well
provoke calmer blood than mine. I shall write to Edinburgh and put all
to rights; that is, if you desire I should do so; as indeed I cannot
suppose that your good opinion of Flora, it being such as you have
often expressed to me, can be at once laid aside.'
'Colonel Mac-Ivor,' said Edward, who had no mind to be hurried farther
or faster than he chose in a matter which he had already considered as
broken off, 'I am fully sensible of the value of your good offices; and
certainly, by your zeal on my behalf in such an affair, you do me no
small honour. But as Miss Mac-Ivor has made her election freely and
voluntarily, and as all my attentions in Edinburgh were received with
more than coldness, I cannot, in justice either to her or myself, consent
that she should again be harassed upon this topic. I would have
mentioned this to you some time since, but you saw the footing upon
which we stood together, and must have understood it. Had I thought
otherwise I would have earlier spoken; but I had a natural reluctance to
enter upon a subject so painful to us both.'
'O, very well, Mr. Waverley,' said Fergus, haughtily, 'the thing is at an
end. I have no occasion to press my sister upon any man.'
'Nor have I any occasion to court repeated rejection from the same
young lady,' answered Edward, in the same tone.
'I shall make due inquiry, however,' said the Chieftain, without noticing
the interruption, 'and learn what my sister thinks of all this, we will
then see whether it is to end here.'
'Respecting such inquiries, you will of course be guided by your own
judgment,' said Waverley. 'It is, I am aware, impossible Miss Mac-Ivor
can change her mind; and were such an unsupposable case to happen, it
is certain I will not change mine. I only mention this to prevent any
possibility of future misconstruction.'
Gladly at this moment would Mac-Ivor have put their quarrel to a
personal arbitrement, his eye flashed fire, and he measured Edward as
if to choose where he might best plant a mortal wound. But although
we do not now quarrel according to the modes and figures of Caranza
or Vincent Saviola, no one knew better than Fergus that there must be
some decent pretext for a mortal duel. For instance, you may challenge
a man for treading on your corn in a crowd, or for pushing you up to
the wall, or for taking your seat in the theatre; but the modern code of
honour will not permit you to found a quarrel upon your right of
compelling a man to continue addresses to a female relative which the
fair lady has already refused. So that Fergus was compelled to stomach
this supposed affront until the whirligig of time, whose motion he
promised himself he would watch most sedulously, should bring about
an opportunity of revenge.
Waverley's servant always led a saddle-horse for him in the rear of the
battalion to which he was attached, though his master seldom rode. But
now, incensed at the domineering and unreasonable conduct of his late
friend, he fell behind the column and mounted his horse, resolving to
seek the Baron of Bradwardine, and request permission to volunteer in
his troop instead of the Mac-Ivor regiment.
'A happy time of it I should have had,' thought he, after he was
mounted, 'to have been so closely allied to this superb specimen of
pride and self-opinion and passion. A colonel! why, he should have
been a generalissimo. A petty chief of three or four hundred men! his
pride might suffice for the Cham of Tartary--the Grand Seignior--the
Great Mogul! I am well free of him. Were Flora an angel, she would
bring with her a second Lucifer of ambition and wrath for a
brother-in-law.'
The Baron, whose learning (like Sancho's jests while in the Sierra
Morena) seemed to grow mouldy for want of exercise, joyfully
embraced the opportunity of Waverley's offering his service in his
regiment, to bring it into some exertion. The good-natured old
gentleman, however, laboured to effect a reconciliation between the
two quondam friends. Fergus turned a cold ear to his remonstrances,
though he gave them a respectful hearing; and as for Waverley, he saw
no reason why he should be the first in courting a renewal of the
intimacy which the Chieftain had so unreasonably disturbed. The Baron
then mentioned the matter to the Prince, who, anxious to prevent
quarrels in his little army, declared he would himself remonstrate with
Colonel Mac-Ivor on the unreasonableness of his conduct. But, in the
hurry of their march, it was a day or two before he had an opportunity
to exert his influence in the manner proposed.
In the meanwhile Waverley turned the instructions he had received
while in Gardiner's dragoons to some account, and assisted the Baron in
his command as a sort of adjutant. 'Parmi les aveugles un borgne est
roi,' says the French proverb; and the cavalry, which consisted chiefly
of Lowland gentlemen, their tenants and servants, formed a high
opinion of Waverley's skill and a great attachment to his person. This
was indeed partly owing to the satisfaction which they felt at the
distinguished English volunteer's leaving the Highlanders to rank
among them; for there was a latent grudge between the horse and foot,
not only owing to the difference of the services, but because most of
the gentlemen, living near the Highlands, had at one time or other had
quarrels with the tribes in their vicinity, and all of them looked with a
jealous eye on the Highlanders' avowed pretensions to superior valour
and utility in the Prince's service.
CHAPTER XXIX
THE CONFUSION OF KING AGRAMANT'S CAMP
Itwas Waverley's custom sometimes to ride a little apart from the main
body, to look at any object of curiosity which occurred on the march.
They were now in Lancashire, when, attracted by a castellated old hall,
he left the squadron for half an hour to take a survey and slight sketch
of it. As he returned down the avenue he was met by Ensign
Maccombich. This man had contracted a sort of regard for Edward
since the day of his first seeing him at Tully-Veolan and introducing
him to the Highlands. He seemed to loiter, as if on purpose to meet
with our hero. Yet, as he passed him, he only approached his stirrup
and pronounced the single word 'Beware!' and then walked swiftly on,
shunning all further communication.
Edward, somewhat surprised at this hint, followed with his eyes the
course of Evan, who speedily disappeared among the trees. His servant,
Alick Polwarth, who was in attendance, also looked after the
Highlander, and then riding up close to his master, said,-'The ne'er be in me, sir, if I think you're safe amang thae Highland
rinthereouts.'
'What do you mean, Alick?' said Waverley.
'The Mac-Ivors, sir, hae gotten it into their heads that ye hae affronted
their young leddy, Miss Flora; and I hae heard mae than ane say, they
wadna tak muckle to mak a black-cock o' ye; and ye ken weel eneugh
there's mony o' them wadna mind a bawbee the weising a ball through
the Prince himsell, an the Chief gae them the wink, or whether he did
or no, if they thought it a thing that would please him when it was
dune.'
Waverley, though confident that Fergus Mac-Ivor was incapable of
such treachery, was by no means equally sure of the forbearance of his
followers. He knew that, where the honour of the Chief or his family
was supposed to be touched, the happiest man would be he that could
first avenge the stigma; and he had often heard them quote a proverb,
'That the best revenge was the most speedy and most safe.' Coupling
this with the hint of Evan, he judged it most prudent to set spurs to his
horse and ride briskly back to the squadron. Ere he reached the end of
the long avenue, however, a ball whistled past him, and the report of a
pistol was heard.
'It was that deevil's buckle, Callum Beg,' said Alick; 'I saw him whisk
away through amang the reises.'
Edward, justly incensed at this act of treachery, galloped out of the
avenue, and observed the battalion of Mac-Ivor at some distance
moving along the common in which it terminated. He also saw an
individual running very fast to join the party; this he concluded was the
intended assassin, who, by leaping an enclosure, might easily make a
much shorter path to the main body than he could find on horseback.
Unable to contain himself, he commanded Alick to go to the Baron of
Bradwardine, who was at the head of his regiment about half a mile in
front, and acquaint him with what had happened. He himself
immediately rode up to Fergus's regiment. The Chief himself was in the
act of joining them. He was on horseback, having returned from
waiting on the Prince. On perceiving Edward approaching, he put his
horse in motion towards him.
'Colonel Mac-Ivor,' said Waverley, without any farther salutation, 'I
have to inform you that one of your people has this instant fired at me
from a lurking-place.'
'As that,' answered Mac-Ivor, 'excepting the circumstance of a
lurking-place, is a pleasure which I presently propose to myself, I
should be glad to know which of my clansmen dared to anticipate me.'
'I shall certainly be at your command whenever you please; the
gentleman who took your office upon himself is your page there,
Callum Beg.'
'Stand forth from the ranks, Callum! Did you fire at Mr. Waverley?'
'No,' answered the unblushing Callum.
'You did,' said Alick Polwarth, who was already returned, having met a
trooper by whom he despatched an account of what was going forward
to the Baron of Bradwardine, while he himself returned to his master at
full gallop, neither sparing the rowels of his spurs nor the sides of his
horse. 'You did; I saw you as plainly as I ever saw the auld kirk at
Coudingham.'
'You lie,' replied Callum, with his usual impenetrable obstinacy. The
combat between the knights would certainly, as in the days of chivalry,
have been preceded by an encounter between the squires (for Alick was
a stout-hearted Merseman, and feared the bow of Cupid far more than a
Highlander's dirk or claymore), but Fergus, with his usual tone of
decision, demanded Callum's pistol. The cock was down, the pan and
muzzle were black with the smoke; it had been that instant fired.
'Take that,' said Fergus, striking the boy upon the head with the heavy
pistol-butt with his whole force--'take that for acting without orders,
and lying to disguise it.' Callum received the blow without appearing to
flinch from it, and fell without sign of life. 'Stand still, upon your lives!'
said Fergus to the rest of the clan; 'I blow out the brains of the first man
who interferes between Mr. Waverley and me.' They stood motionless;
Evan Dhu alone showed symptoms of vexation and anxiety. Callum lay
on the ground bleeding copiously, but no one ventured to give him any
assistance. It seemed as if he had gotten his death-blow.
'And now for you, Mr. Waverley; please to turn your horse twenty
yards with me upon the common.' Waverley complied; and Fergus,
confronting him when they were a little way from the line of march,
said, with great affected coolness, 'I could not but wonder, sir, at the
fickleness of taste which you were pleased to express the other day. But
it was not an angel, as you justly observed, who had charms for you,
unless she brought an empire for her fortune. I have now an excellent
commentary upon that obscure text.'
'I am at a loss even to guess at your meaning, Colonel Mac-Ivor, unless
it seems plain that you intend to fasten a quarrel upon me.'
'Your affected ignorance shall not serve you, sir. The Prince--the Prince
himself has acquainted me with your manoeuvres. I little thought that
your engagements with Miss Bradwardine were the reason of your
breaking off your intended match with my sister. I suppose the
information that the Baron had altered the destination of his estate was
quite a sufficient reason for slighting your friend's sister and carrying
off your friend's mistress.'
'Did the Prince tell you I was engaged to Miss Bradwardine?' said
Waverley. 'Impossible.'
'He did, sir,' answered Mac-Ivor; 'so, either draw and defend yourself or
resign your pretensions to the lady.' 'This is absolute madness,'
exclaimed Waverley, 'or some strange mistake!'
'O! no evasion! draw your sword!' said the infuriated Chieftain, his own
already unsheathed.
'Must I fight in a madman's quarrel?'
'Then give up now, and forever, all pretensions to Miss Bradwardine's
hand.'
'What title have you,' cried Waverley, utterly losing command of
himself--'what title have you, or any man living, to dictate such terms
to me?' And he also drew his sword.
At this moment the Baron of Bradwardine, followed by several of his
troop, came up on the spur, some from curiosity, others to take part in
the quarrel which they indistinctly understood had broken out between
the Mac-Ivors and their corps. The clan, seeing them approach, put
themselves in motion to support their Chieftain, and a scene of
confusion commenced which seamed likely to terminate in bloodshed.
A hundred tongues were in motion at once. The Baron lectured, the
Chieftain stormed, the Highlanders screamed in Gaelic, the horsemen
cursed and swore in Lowland Scotch. At length matters came to such a
pass that the Baron threatened to charge the Mac-Ivors unless they
resumed their ranks, and many of them, in return, presented their
firearms at him and the other troopers. The confusion was privately
fostered by old Ballenkeiroch, who made no doubt that his own day of
vengeance was arrived, when, behold! a cry arose of 'Room! make way!
place a Monseigneur! place a Monseigneur!' This announced the
approach of the Prince, who came up with a party of Fitz-James's
foreign dragoons that acted as his body-guard. His arrival produced
some degree of order. The Highlanders reassumed their ranks, the
cavalry fell in and formed squadron, and the Baron and Chieftain were
silent.
The Prince called them and Waverley before him. Having heard the
original cause of the quarrel through the villainy of Callum Beg, he
ordered him into custody of the provost-marshal for immediate
execution, in the event of his surviving the chastisement inflicted by his
Chieftain. Fergus, however, in a tone betwixt claiming a right and
asking a favour, requested he might be left to his disposal, and
promised his punishment should be exemplary. To deny this might
have seemed to encroach on the patriarchal authority of the Chieftains,
of which they were very jealous, and they were not persons to be
disobliged. Callum was therefore left to the justice of his own tribe.
The Prince next demanded to know the new cause of quarrel between
Colonel Mac-Ivor and Waverley. There was a pause. Both gentlemen
found the presence of the Baron of Bradwardine (for by this time all
three had approached the Chevalier by his command) an
insurmountable barrier against entering upon a subject where the name
of his daughter must unavoidably be mentioned. They turned their eyes
on the ground, with looks in which shame and embarrassment were
mingled with displeasure. The Prince, who had been educated amongst
the discontented and mutinous spirits of the court of St. Germains,
where feuds of every kind were the daily subject of solicitude to the
dethroned sovereign, had served his apprenticeship, as old Frederick of
Prussia would have said, to the trade of royalty. To promote or restore
concord among his followers was indispensable. Accordingly he took
his measures.
'Monsieur de Beaujeu!'
'Monseigneur!' said a very handsome French cavalry officer who was in
attendance.
'Ayez la bonte d'aligner ces montagnards la, ainsi que la cavalerie, s'il
vous plait, et de les remettre a la marche. Vous parlez si bien l'Anglois,
cela ne vous donneroit pas beaucoup de peine.'
'Ah! pas du tout, Monseigneur,' replied Mons. le Comte de Beaujeu, his
head bending down to the neck of his little prancing highly-managed
charger. Accordingly he piaffed away, in high spirits and confidence, to
the head of Fergus's regiment, although understanding not a word of
Gaelic and very little English.
'Messieurs les sauvages Ecossois--dat is, gentilmans savages, have the
goodness d'arranger vous.'
The clan, comprehending the order more from the gesture than the
words, and seeing the Prince himself present, hastened to dress their
ranks.
'Ah! ver well! dat is fort bien!' said the Count de Beaujeu. 'Gentilmans
sauvages! mais, tres bien. Eh bien! Qu'est ce que vous appelez visage,
Monsieur?' (to a lounging trooper who stood by him). 'Ah, oui! face. Je
vous remercie, Monsieur. Gentilshommes, have de goodness to make
de face to de right par file, dat is, by files. Marsh! Mais, tres bien;
encore, Messieurs; il faut vous mettre a la marche. ... Marchez done, au
nom de Dieu, parceque j'ai oublie le mot Anglois; mais vous etes des
braves gens, et me comprenez tres bien.'
The Count next hastened to put the cavalry in motion. 'Gentilmans
cavalry, you must fall in. Ah! par ma foi, I did not say fall off! I am a
fear de little gross fat gentilman is moche hurt. Ah, mon Dieu! c'est le
Commissaire qui nous a apporte les premieres nouvelles de ce maudit
fracas. Je suis trop fache, Monsieur!'
But poor Macwheeble, who, with a sword stuck across him, and a
white cockade as large as a pancake, now figured in the character of a
commissary, being overturned in the bustle occasioned by the troopers
hastening to get themselves in order in the Prince's presence, before he
could rally his galloway, slunk to the rear amid the unrestrained
laughter of the spectators.
'Eh bien, Messieurs, wheel to de right. Ah! dat is it! Eh, Monsieur de
Bradwardine, ayez la bonte de vous mettre a la tete de votre regiment,
car, par Dieu, je n'en puis plus!'
The Baron of Bradwardine was obliged to go to the assistance of
Monsieur de Beaujeu, after he had fairly expended his few English
military phrases. One purpose of the Chevalier was thus answered. The
other he proposed was, that in the eagerness to hear and comprehend
commands issued through such an indistinct medium in his own
presence, the thoughts of the soldiers in both corps might get a current
different from the angry channel in which they were flowing at the
time.
Charles Edward was no sooner left with the Chieftain and Waverley,
the rest of his attendants being at some distance, than he said, 'If I owed
less to your disinterested friendship, I could be most seriously angry
with both of you for this very extraordinary and causeless broil, at a
moment when my father's service so decidedly demands the most
perfect unanimity. But the worst of my situation is, that my very best
friends hold they have liberty to ruin themselves, as well as the cause
they are engaged in, upon the slightest caprice.'
Both the young men protested their resolution to submit every
difference to his arbitration. 'Indeed,' said Edward, 'I hardly know of
what I am accused. I sought Colonel Mac-Ivor merely to mention to
him that I had narrowly escaped assassination at the hand of his
immediate dependent, a dastardly revenge which I knew him to be
incapable of authorising. As to the cause for which he is disposed to
fasten a quarrel upon me, I am ignorant of it, unless it be that he
accuses me, most unjustly, of having engaged the affections of a young
lady in prejudice of his pretensions.'
'If there is an error,' said the Chieftain, 'it arises from a conversation
which I held this morning with his Royal Highness himself.'
'With me?' said the Chevalier; 'how can Colonel Mac-Ivor have so far
misunderstood me?'
He then led Fergus aside, and, after five minutes' earnest conversation,
spurred his horse towards Edward. 'Is it possible--nay, ride up, Colonel,
for I desire no secrets--is it possible, Mr. Waverley, that I am mistaken
in supposing that you are an accepted lover of Miss Bradwardine? a
fact of which I was by circumstances, though not by communication
from you, so absolutely convinced that I alleged it to Vich Ian Vohr
this morning as a reason why, without offence to him, you might not
continue to be ambitious of an alliance which, to an unengaged person,
even though once repulsed, holds out too many charms to be lightly
laid aside.'
'Your Royal Highness,' said Waverley,'must have founded on
circumstances altogether unknown to me, when you did me the
distinguished honour of supposing me an accepted lover of Miss
Bradwardine. I feel the distinction implied in the supposition, but I
have no title to it. For the rest, my confidence in my own merit is too
justly slight to admit of my hoping for success in any quarter after
positive rejection.'
The Chevalier was silent for a moment, looking steadily at them both,
and then said, 'Upon my word, Mr. Waverley, you are a less happy man
than I conceived I had very good reason to believe you. But now,
gentlemen, allow me to be umpire in this matter, not as Prince Regent
but as Charles Stuart, a brother adventurer with you in the same gallant
cause. Lay my pretensions to be obeyed by you entirely out of view,
and consider your own honour, and how far it is well or becoming to
give our enemies the advantage and our friends the scandal of showing
that, few as we are, we are not united. And forgive me if I add, that the
names of the ladies who have been mentioned crave more respect from
us all than to be made themes of discord.'
He took Fergus a little apart and spoke to him very earnestly for two or
three minutes, and then returning to Waverley, said, 'I believe I have
satisfied Colonel Mac-Ivor that his resentment was founded upon a
misconception, to which, indeed, I myself gave rise; and I trust Mr.
Waverley is too generous to harbour any recollection of what is past
when I assure him that such is the case. You must state this matter
properly to your clan, Vich Ian Vohr, to prevent a recurrence of their
precipitate violence.' Fergus bowed. 'And now, gentlemen, let me have
the pleasure to see you shake hands.'
They advanced coldly, and with measured steps, each apparently
reluctant to appear most forward in concession. They did, however,
shake hands, and parted, taking a respectful leave of the Chevalier.
Charles Edward [Footnote: See Note 12.] then rode to the head of the
Mac-Ivors, threw himself from his horse, begged a drink out of old
Ballenkeiroch's cantine, and marched about half a mile along with them,
inquiring into the history and connexions of Sliochd nan Ivor, adroitly
using the few words of Gaelic he possessed, and affecting a great desire
to learn it more thoroughly. He then mounted his horse once more, and
galloped to the Baron's cavalry, which was in front, halted them, and
examined their accoutrements and state of discipline; took notice of the
principal gentlemen, and even of the cadets; inquired after their ladies,
and commended their horses; rode about an hour with the Baron of
Bradwardine, and endured three long stories about Field-Marshal the
Duke of Berwick.
'Ah, Beaujeu, mon cher ami,' said he, as he returned to his usual place
in the line of march, 'que mon metier de prince errant est ennuyant, par
fois. Mais, courage! c'est le grand jeu, apres tout.'
CHAPTER XXX
A SKIRMISH
The reader need hardly be reminded that, after a council of war held at
Derby on the 5th of December, the Highlanders relinquished their
desperate attempt to penetrate farther into England, and, greatly to the
dissatisfaction of their young and daring leader, positively determined
to return northward. They commenced their retreat accordingly, and, by
the extreme celerity of their movements, outstripped the motions of the
Duke of Cumberland, who now pursued them with a very large body of
cavalry.
This retreat was a virtual resignation of their towering hopes. None had
been so sanguine as Fergus Mac-Ivor; none, consequently, was so
cruelly mortified at the change of measures. He argued, or rather
remonstrated, with the utmost vehemence at the council of war; and,
when his opinion was rejected, shed tears of grief and indignation.
From that moment his whole manner was so much altered that he could
scarcely have been recognised for the same soaring and ardent spirit,
for whom the whole earth seemed too narrow but a week before. The
retreat had continued for several days, when Edward, to his surprise,
early on the 12th of December, received a visit from the Chieftain in
his quarters, in a hamlet about half-way between Shap and Penrith.
Having had no intercourse with the Chieftain since their rupture,
Edward waited with some anxiety an explanation of this unexpected
visit; nor could he help being surprised, and somewhat shocked, with
the change in his appearance. His eye had lost much of its fire; his
cheek was hollow, his voice was languid, even his gait seemed less
firm and elastic than it was wont; and his dress, to which he used to be
particularly attentive, was now carelessly flung about him. He invited
Edward to walk out with him by the little river in the vicinity; and
smiled in a melancholy manner when he observed him take down and
buckle on his sword.
As soon as they were in a wild sequestered path by the side of the
stream, the Chief broke out--'Our fine adventure is now totally ruined,
Waverley, and I wish to know what you intend to do;--nay, never stare
at me, man. I tell you I received a packet from my sister yesterday, and,
had I got the information it contains sooner, it would have prevented a
quarrel which I am always vexed when I think of. In a letter written
after our dispute, I acquainted her with the cause of it; and she now
replies to me that she never had, nor could have, any purpose of giving
you encouragement; so that it seems I have acted like a madman. Poor
Flora! she writes in high spirits; what a change will the news of this
unhappy retreat make in her state of mind!'
Waverley, who was really much affected by the deep tone of
melancholy with which Fergus spoke, affectionately entreated him to
banish from his remembrance any unkindness which had arisen
between them, and they once more shook hands, but now with sincere
cordiality. Fergus again inquired of Waverley what he intended to do.
'Had you not better leave this luckless army, and get down before us
into Scotland, and embark for the Continent from some of the eastern
ports that are still in our possession? When you are out of the kingdom,
your friends will easily negotiate your pardon; and, to tell you the truth,
I wish you would carry Rose Bradwardine with you as your wife, and
take Flora also under your joint protection.'--Edward looked
surprised.--'She loves you, and I believe you love her, though, perhaps,
you have not found it out, for you are not celebrated for knowing your
own mind very pointedly.' He said this with a sort of smile.
'How,' answered Edward, 'can you advise me to desert the expedition in
which we are all embarked?'
'Embarked?' said Fergus; 'the vessel is going to pieces, and it is full
time for all who can to get into the long-boat and leave her.'
'Why, what will other gentlemen do?' answered Waverley, 'and why did
the Highland Chiefs consent to this retreat if it is so ruinous?'
'O,' replied Mac-Ivor, 'they think that, as on former occasions, the
heading, hanging, and forfeiting will chiefly fall to the lot of the
Lowland gentry; that they will be left secure in their poverty and their
fastnesses, there, according to their proverb, "to listen to the wind upon
the hill till the waters abate." But they will be disappointed; they have
been too often troublesome to be so repeatedly passed over, and this
time John Bull has been too heartily frightened to recover his
good-humour for some time. The Hanoverian ministers always
deserved to be hanged for rascals; but now, if they get the power in
their hands,--as, sooner or later, they must, since there is neither rising
in England nor assistance from France,--they will deserve the gallows
as fools if they leave a single clan in the Highlands in a situation to be
again troublesome to government. Ay, they will make
root-and-branch-work, I warrant them.'
'And while you recommend flight to me,' said Edward,--'a counsel
which I would rather die than embrace,--what are your own views?'
'O,' answered Fergus, with a melancholy air, 'my fate is settled. Dead or
captive I must be before tomorrow.'
'What do you mean by that, my friend?' said Edward. 'The enemy is
still a day's march in our rear, and if he comes up, we are still strong
enough to keep him in check. Remember Gladsmuir.'
'What I tell you is true notwithstanding, so far as I am individually
concerned.'
'Upon what authority can you found so melancholy a prediction?' asked
Waverley.
'On one which never failed a person of my house. I have seen,' he said,
lowering his voice, 'I have seen the Bodach Glas.'
'Bodach Glas?'
'Yes; have you been so long at Glennaquoich, and never heard of the
Grey Spectre? though indeed there is a certain reluctance among us to
mention him.'
'No, never.'
'Ah! it would have been a tale for poor Flora to have told you. Or, if
that hill were Benmore, and that long blue lake, which you see just
winding towards yon mountainous country, were Loch Tay, or my own
Loch an Ri, the tale would be better suited with scenery. However, let
us sit down on this knoll; even Saddleback and Ulswater will suit what
I have to say better than the English hedgerows, enclosures, and
farmhouses. You must know, then, that when my ancestor, Ian nan
Chaistel, wasted Northumberland, there was associated with him in the
expedition a sort of Southland Chief, or captain of a band of
Lowlanders, called Halbert Hall. In their return through the Cheviots
they quarrelled about the division of the great booty they had acquired,
and came from words to blows. The Lowlanders were cut off to a man,
and their chief fell the last, covered with wounds by the sword of my
ancestor. Since that time his spirit has crossed the Vich Ian Vohr of the
day when any great disaster was impending, but especially before
approaching death. My father saw him twice, once before he was made
prisoner at Sheriff-Muir, another time on the morning of the day on
which he died.'
'How can you, my dear Fergus, tell such nonsense with a grave face?'
'I do not ask you to believe it; but I tell you the truth, ascertained by
three hundred years' experience at least, and last night by my own eyes.'
'The particulars, for heaven's sake!' said Waverley, with eagerness.
'I will, on condition you will not attempt a jest on the subject. Since this
unhappy retreat commenced I have scarce ever been able to sleep for
thinking of my clan, and of this poor Prince, whom they are leading
back like a dog in a string, whether he will or no, and of the downfall of
my family. Last night I felt so feverish that I left my quarters and
walked out, in hopes the keen frosty air would brace my nerves--I
cannot tell how much I dislike going on, for I know you will hardly
believe me. However--I crossed a small footbridge, and kept walking
backwards and forwards, when I observed with surprise by the clear
moonlight a tall figure in a grey plaid, such as shepherds wear in the
south of Scotland, which, move at what pace I would, kept regularly
about four yards before me.'
'You saw a Cumberland peasant in his ordinary dress, probably.'
'No; I thought so at first, and was astonished at the man's audacity in
daring to dog me. I called to him, but received no answer. I felt an
anxious throbbing at my heart, and to ascertain what I dreaded, I stood
still and turned myself on the same spot successively to the four points
of the compass. By Heaven, Edward, turn where I would, the figure
was instantly before my eyes, at precisely the same distance! I was then
convinced it was the Bodach Glas. My hair bristled and my knees
shook. I manned myself, however, and determined to return to my
quarters. My ghastly visitant glided before me (for I cannot say he
walked) until he reached the footbridge; there he stopped and turned
full round. I must either wade the river or pass him as close as I am to
you. A desperate courage, founded on the belief that my death was near,
made me resolve to make my way in despite of him. I made the sign of
the cross, drew my sword, and uttered, "In the name of God, Evil Spirit,
give place!" "Vich Ian Vohr," it said, in a voice that made my very
blood curdle, "beware of to-morrow!" It seemed at that moment not
half a yard from my sword's point; but the words were no sooner
spoken than it was gone, and nothing appeared further to obstruct my
passage. I got home and threw myself on my bed, where I spent a few
hours heavily enough; and this morning, as no enemy was reported to
be near us, I took my horse and rode forward to make up matters with
you. I would not willingly fall until I am in charity with a wronged
friend.'
Edward had little doubt that this phantom was the operation of an
exhausted frame and depressed spirits, working on the belief common
to all Highlanders in such superstitions. He did not the less pity Fergus,
for whom, in his present distress, he felt all his former regard revive.
With the view of diverting his mind from these gloomy images, he
offered, with the Baron's permission, which he knew he could readily
obtain, to remain in his quarters till Fergus's corps should come up, and
then to march with them as usual. The Chief seemed much pleased, yet
hesitated to accept the offer.
'We are, you know, in the rear, the post of danger in a retreat.'
'And therefore the post of honour.'
'Well,' replied the Chieftain, 'let Alick have your horse in readiness, in
case we should be overmatched, and I shall be delighted to have your
company once more.'
The rear-guard were late in making their appearance, having been
delayed by various accidents and by the badness of the roads. At length
they entered the hamlet. When Waverley joined the clan Mac-Ivor,
arm-in-arm with their Chieftain, all the resentment they had entertained
against him seemed blown off at once. Evan Dhu received him with a
grin of congratulation; and even Callum, who was running about as
active as ever, pale indeed, and with a great patch on his head, appeared
delighted to see him.
'That gallows-bird's skull,' said Fergus, 'must be harder than marble; the
lock of the pistol was actually broken.'
'How could you strike so young a lad so hard?' said Waverley, with
some interest.
'Why, if I did not strike hard sometimes, the rascals would forget
themselves.'
They were now in full march, every caution being taken to prevent
surprise. Fergus's people, and a fine clan regiment from Badenoch,
commanded by Cluny Mac-Pherson, had the rear. They had passed a
large open moor, and were entering into the enclosures which surround
a small village called Clifton. The winter sun had set, and Edward
began to rally Fergus upon the false predictions of the Grey Spirit. 'The
ides of March are not past,' said Mac-Ivor, with a smile; when,
suddenly casting his eyes back on the moor, a large body of cavalry
was indistinctly seen to hover upon its brown and dark surface. To line
the enclosures facing the open ground and the road by which the enemy
must move from it upon the village was the work of a short time. While
these manoeuvres were accomplishing, night sunk down, dark and
gloomy, though the moon was at full. Sometimes, however, she
gleamed forth a dubious light upon the scene of action.
The Highlanders did not long remain undisturbed in the defensive
position they had adopted. Favoured by the night, one large body of
dismounted dragoons attempted to force the enclosures, while another,
equally strong, strove to penetrate by the highroad. Both were received
by such a heavy fire as disconcerted their ranks and effectually checked
their progress. Unsatisfied with the advantage thus gained, Fergus, to
whose ardent spirit the approach of danger seemed to restore all its
elasticity, drawing his sword and calling out 'Claymore!' encouraged
his men, by voice and example, to break through the hedge which
divided them and rush down upon the enemy. Mingling with the
dismounted dragoons, they forced them, at the sword-point, to fly to the
open moor, where a considerable number were cut to pieces. But the
moon, which suddenly shone out, showed to the English the small
number of assailants, disordered by their own success. Two squadrons
of horse moving to the support of their companions, the Highlanders
endeavoured to recover the enclosures. But several of them, amongst
others their brave Chieftain, were cut off and surrounded before they
could effect their purpose. Waverley, looking eagerly for Fergus, from
whom, as well as from the retreating body of his followers, he had been
separated in the darkness and tumult, saw him, with Evan Dhu and
Callum, defending themselves desperately against a dozen of horsemen,
who were hewing at them with their long broadswords. The moon was
again at that moment totally overclouded, and Edward, in the obscurity,
could neither bring aid to his friends nor discover which way lay his
own road to rejoin the rear-guard. After once or twice narrowly
escaping being slain or made prisoner by parties of the cavalry whom
he encountered in the darkness, he at length reached an enclosure, and,
clambering over it, concluded himself in safety and on the way to the
Highland forces, whose pipes he heard at some distance. For Fergus
hardly a hope remained, unless that he might be made prisoner
Revolving his fate with sorrow and anxiety, the superstition of the
Bodach Glas recurred to Edward's recollection, and he said to himself,
with internal surprise 'What, can the devil speak truth?' [Footnote: See
Note 13.]
CHAPTER XXXI
CHAPTER OF
ACCIDENTS
Edward was in a most unpleasant and dangerous situation. He soon lost
the sound of the bagpipes; and, what was yet more unpleasant, when,
after searching long in vain and scrambling through many enclosures,
he at length approached the highroad, he learned, from the unwelcome
noise of kettledrums and trumpets, that the English cavalry now
occupied it, and consequently were between him and the Highlanders.
Precluded, therefore, from advancing in a straight direction, he resolved
to avoid the English military and endeavour to join his friends by
making a circuit to the left, for which a beaten path, deviating from the
main road in that direction, seemed to afford facilities. The path was
muddy and the night dark and cold; but even these inconveniences were
hardly felt amidst the apprehensions which falling into the hands of the
King's forces reasonably excited in his bosom.
After walking about three miles, he at length reached a hamlet.
Conscious that the common people were in general unfavourable to the
cause he had espoused, yet desirous, if possible, to procure a horse and
guide to Penrith, where he hoped to find the rear, if not the main body,
of the Chevalier's army, he approached the alehouse of the place. There
was a great noise within; he paused to listen. A round English oath or
two, and the burden of a campaign song, convinced him the hamlet also
was occupied by the Duke of Cumberland's soldiers. Endeavouring to
retire from it as softly as possible, and blessing the obscurity which
hitherto he had murmured against, Waverley groped his way the best he
could along a small paling, which seemed the boundary of some
cottage garden. As he reached the gate of this little enclosure, his
outstretched hand was grasped by that of a female, whose voice at the
same time uttered, 'Edward, is't thou, man?'
'Here is some unlucky mistake,' thought Edward, struggling, but gently,
to disengage himself.
'Naen o' thy foun, now, man, or the red cwoats will hear thee; they hae
been houlerying and poulerying every ane that past alehouse door this
noight to make them drive their waggons and sick loike. Come into
feyther's, or they'll do ho a mischief.'
'A good hint,' thought Waverley, following the girl through the little
garden into a brick-paved kitchen, where she set herself to kindle a
match at an expiring fire, and with the match to light a candle. She had
no sooner looked on Edward than she dropped the light, with a shrill
scream of 'O feyther, feyther!'
The father, thus invoked, speedily appeared--a sturdy old farmer, in a
pair of leather breeches, and boots pulled on without stockings, having
just started from his bed; the rest of his dress was only a Westmoreland
statesman's robe-de-chambre--that is, his shirt. His figure was displayed
to advantage by a candle which he bore in his left hand; in his right he
brandished a poker.
'What hast ho here, wench?'
'O!' cried the poor girl, almost going off in hysterics, 'I thought it was
Ned Williams, and it is one of the plaid-men.'
'And what was thee ganging to do wi' Ned Williams at this time o'
noight?' To this, which was, perhaps, one of the numerous class of
questions more easily asked than answered, the rosy-cheeked damsel
made no reply, but continued sobbing and wringing her hands.
'And thee, lad, dost ho know that the dragoons be a town? dost ho know
that, mon? ad, they'll sliver thee loike a turnip, mon.'
'I know my life is in great danger,' said Waverley, 'but if you can assist
me, I will reward you handsomely. I am no Scotchman, but an
unfortunate English gentleman.'
'Be ho Scot or no,' said the honest farmer, 'I wish thou hadst kept the
other side of the hallan. But since thou art here, Jacob Jopson will
betray no man's bluid; and the plaids were gay canny, and did not do so
much mischief when they were here yesterday.' Accordingly, he set
seriously about sheltering and refreshing our hero for the night. The fire
was speedily rekindled, but with precaution against its light being seen
from without. The jolly yeoman cut a rasher of bacon, which Cicely
soon broiled, and her father added a swingeing tankard of his best ale.
It was settled that Edward should remain there till the troops marched
in the morning, then hire or buy a horse from the farmer, and, with the
best directions that could be obtained, endeavour to overtake his friends.
A clean, though coarse, bed received him after the fatigues of this
unhappy day.
With the morning arrived the news that the Highlanders had evacuated
Penrith, and marched off towards Carlisle; that the Duke of
Cumberland was in possession of Penrith, and that detachments of his
army covered the roads in every direction. To attempt to get through
undiscovered would be an act of the most frantic temerity. Ned
Williams (the right Edward) was now called to council by Cicely and
her father. Ned, who perhaps did not care that his handsome namesake
should remain too long in the same house with his sweetheart, for fear
of fresh mistakes, proposed that Waverley, exchanging his uniform and
plaid for the dress of the country, should go with him to his father's
farm near Ullswater, and remain in that undisturbed retirement until the
military movements in the country should have ceased to render his
departure hazardous. A price was also agreed upon, at which the
stranger might board with Farmer Williams if he thought proper, till he
could depart with safety. It was of moderate amount; the distress of his
situation, among this honest and simple-hearted race, being considered
as no reason for increasing their demand.
The necessary articles of dress were accordingly procured, and, by
following by-paths known to the young farmer, they hoped to escape
any unpleasant rencontre. A recompense for their hospitality was
refused peremptorily by old Jopson and his cherry-cheeked daughter; a
kiss paid the one and a hearty shake of the hand the other. Both seemed
anxious for their guest's safety, and took leave of him with kind wishes.
In the course of their route Edward, with his guide, traversed those
fields which the night before had been the scene of action. A brief
gleam of December's sun shone sadly on the broad heath, which,
towards the spot where the great north-west road entered the enclosures
of Lord Lonsdale's property, exhibited dead bodies of men and horses,
and the usual companions of war, a number of carrion-crows, hawks,
and ravens.
'And this, then, was thy last field,' said Waverley to himself, his eye
filling at the recollection of the many splendid points of Fergus's
character, and of their former intimacy, all his passions and
imperfections forgotten--'here fell the last Vich Ian Vohr, on a
nameless heath; and in an obscure night-skirmish was quenched that
ardent spirit, who thought it little to cut a way for his master to the
British throne! Ambition, policy, bravery, all far beyond their sphere,
here learned the fate of mortals. The sole support, too, of a sister whose
spirit, as proud and unbending, was even more exalted than thine own;
here ended all thy hopes for Flora, and the long and valued line which
it was thy boast to raise yet more highly by thy adventurous valour!'
As these ideas pressed on Waverley's mind, he resolved to go upon the
open heath and search if, among the slain, he could discover the body
of his friend, with the pious intention of procuring for him the last rites
of sepulture. The timorous young man who accompanied him
remonstrated upon the danger of the attempt, but Edward was
determined. The followers of the camp had already stripped the dead of
all they could carry away; but the country people, unused to scenes of
blood, had not yet approached the field of action, though some stood
fearfully gazing at a distance. About sixty or seventy dragoons lay slain
within the first enclosure, upon the highroad, and on the open moor. Of
the Highlanders, not above a dozen had fallen, chiefly those who,
venturing too far on the moor, could not regain the strong ground. He
could not find the body of Fergus among the slain. On a little knoll,
separated from the others, lay the carcasses of three English dragoons,
two horses, and the page Callum Beg, whose hard skull a trooper's
broadsword had, at length, effectually cloven. It was possible his clan
had carried off the body of Fergus; but it was also possible he had
escaped, especially as Evan Dhu, who would never leave his Chief, was
not found among the dead; or he might be prisoner, and the less
formidable denunciation inferred from the appearance of the Bodach
Glas might have proved the true one. The approach of a party sent for
the purpose of compelling the country people to bury the dead, and
who had already assembled several peasants for that purpose, now
obliged Edward to rejoin his guide, who awaited him in great anxiety
and fear under shade of the plantations.
After leaving this field of death, the rest of their journey was happily
accomplished. At the house of Farmer Williams, Edward passed for a
young kinsman, educated for the church, who was come to reside there
till the civil tumults permitted him to pass through the country. This
silenced suspicion among the kind and simple yeomanry of
Cumberland, and accounted sufficiently for the grave manners and
retired habits of the new guest. The precaution became more necessary
than Waverley had anticipated, as a variety of incidents prolonged his
stay at Fasthwaite, as the farm was called.
A tremendous fall of snow rendered his departure impossible for more
than ten days. When the roads began to become a little practicable, they
successively received news of the retreat of the Chevalier into Scotland;
then, that he had abandoned the frontiers, retiring upon Glasgow; and
that the Duke of Cumberland had formed the siege of Carlisle. His
army, therefore, cut off all possibility of Waverley's escaping into
Scotland in that direction. On the eastern border Marshal Wade, with a
large force, was advancing upon Edinburgh; and all along the frontier,
parties of militia, volunteers, and partizans were in arms to suppress
insurrection, and apprehend such stragglers from the Highland army as
had been left in England. The surrender of Carlisle, and the severity
with which the rebel garrison were threatened, soon formed an
additional reason against venturing upon a solitary and hopeless
journey through a hostile country and a large army, to carry the
assistance of a single sword to a cause which seemed altogether
desperate. In this lonely and secluded situation, without the advantage
of company or conversation with men of cultivated minds, the
arguments of Colonel Talbot often recurred to the mind of our hero. A
still more anxious recollection haunted his slumbers--it was the dying
look and gesture of Colonel Gardiner. Most devoutly did he hope, as
the rarely occurring post brought news of skirmishes with various
success, that it might never again be his lot to draw his sword in civil
conflict. Then his mind turned to the supposed death of Fergus, to the
desolate situation of Flora, and, with yet more tender recollection, to
that of Rose Bradwardine, who was destitute of the devoted enthusiasm
of loyalty, which to her friend hallowed and exalted misfortune. These
reveries he was permitted to enjoy, undisturbed by queries or
interruption; and it was in many a winter walk by the shores of
Ullswater that he acquired a more complete mastery of a spirit tamed
by adversity than his former experience had given him; and that he felt
himself entitled to say firmly, though perhaps with a sigh, that the
romance of his life was ended, and that its real history had now
commenced. He was soon called upon to justify his pretensions by
reason and philosophy.
CHAPTER XXXII
A JOURNEY TO LONDON
Theamily at Fasthwaite were soon attached to Edward. He had, indeed,
that gentleness and urbanity which almost universally attracts
corresponding kindness; and to their simple ideas his learning gave him
consequence, and his sorrows interest. The last he ascribed, evasively,
to the loss of a brother in the skirmish near Clifton; and in that
primitive state of society, where the ties of affection were highly
deemed of, his continued depression excited sympathy, but not
surprise.
In the end of January his more lively powers were called out by the
happy union of Edward Williams, the son of his host, with Cicely
Jopson. Our hero would not cloud with sorrow the festivity attending
the wedding of two persons to whom he was so highly obliged. He
therefore exerted himself, danced, sung, played at the various games of
the day, and was the blithest of the company. The next morning,
however, he had more serious matters to think of.
The clergyman who had married the young couple was so much
pleased with the supposed student of divinity, that he came next day
from Penrith on purpose to pay him a visit. This might have been a
puzzling chapter had he entered into any examination of our hero's
supposed theological studies; but fortunately he loved better to hear and
communicate the news of the day. He brought with him two or three
old newspapers, in one of which Edward found a piece of intelligence
that soon rendered him deaf to every word which the Reverend Mr.
Twigtythe was saying upon the news from the north, and the prospect
of the Duke's speedily overtaking and crushing the rebels. This was an
article in these, or nearly these words:-'Died at his house, in Hill Street, Berkeley Square, upon the 10th inst.,
Richard Waverley, Esq., second son of Sir Giles Waverley of
Waverley-Honour, etc. etc. He died of a lingering disorder, augmented
by the unpleasant predicament of suspicion in which he stood, having
been obliged to find bail to a high amount to meet an impending
accusation of high-treason. An accusation of the same grave crime
hangs over his elder brother, Sir Everard Waverley, the representative
of that ancient family; and we understand the day of his trial will be
fixed early in the next month, unless Edward Waverley, son of the
deceased Richard, and heir to the Baronet, shall surrender himself to
justice. In that case we are assured it is his Majesty's gracious purpose
to drop further proceedings upon the charge against Sir Everard. This
unfortunate young gentleman is ascertained to have been in arms in the
Pretender's service, and to have marched along with the Highland
troops into England. But he has not been heard of since the skirmish at
Clifton, on the 18th December last.'
Such was this distracting paragraph. 'Good God!' exclaimed Waverley,
'am I then a parricide? Impossible! My father, who never showed the
affection of a father while he lived, cannot have been so much affected
by my supposed death as to hasten his own; no, I will not believe it, it
were distraction to entertain for a moment such a horrible idea. But it
were, if possible, worse than parricide to suffer any danger to hang over
my noble and generous uncle, who has ever been more to me than a
father, if such evil can be averted by any sacrifice on my part!'
While these reflections passed like the stings of scorpions through
Waverley's sensorium, the worthy divine was startled in a long
disquisition on the battle of Falkirk by the ghastliness which they
communicated to his looks, and asked him if he was ill? Fortunately the
bride, all smirk and blush, had just entered the room. Mrs. Williams
was none of the brightest of women, but she was good-natured, and
readily concluding that Edward had been shocked by disagreeable news
in the papers, interfered so judiciously, that, without exciting suspicion,
she drew off Mr. Twigtythe's attention, and engaged it until he soon
after took his leave. Waverley then explained to his friends that he was
under the necessity of going to London with as little delay as possible.
One cause of delay, however, did occur, to which Waverley had been
very little accustomed. His purse, though well stocked when he first
went to Tully-Veolan, had not been reinforced since that period; and
although his life since had not been of a nature to exhaust it hastily, for
he had lived chiefly with his friends or with the army, yet he found that,
after settling with his kind landlord, he should be too poor to encounter
the expense of travelling post. The best course, therefore, seemed to be
to get into the great north road about Boroughbridge, and there take a
place in the northern diligence, a huge old-fashioned tub, drawn by
three horses, which completed the journey from Edinburgh to London
(God willing, as the advertisement expressed it) in three weeks. Our
hero, therefore, took an affectionate farewell of his Cumberland friends,
whose kindness he promised never to forget, and tacitly hoped ene day
to acknowledge by substantial proofs of gratitude. After some petty
difficulties and vexatious delays, and after putting his dress into a shape
better befitting his rank, though perfectly plain and simple, he
accomplished crossing the country, and found himself in the desired
vehicle vis-a-vis to Mrs. Nosebag, the lady of Lieutenant Nosebag,
adjutant and riding-master of the--dragoons, a jolly woman of about
fifty, wearing a blue habit, faced with scarlet, and grasping a
silver-mounted horse-whip.
This lady was one of those active members of society who take upon
them faire lefrais de la conversation. She had just returned from the
north, and informed Edward how nearly her regiment had cut the
petticoat people into ribands at Falkirk, 'only somehow there was one
of those nasty, awkward marshes, that they are never without in
Scotland, I think, and so our poor dear little regiment suffered
something, as my Nosebag says, in that unsatisfactory affair. You, sir,
have served in the dragoons?' Waverley was taken so much at unawares
that he acquiesced.
'O, I knew it at once; I saw you were military from your air, and I was
sure you could be none of the foot-wobblers, as my Nosebag calls them.
What regiment, pray?' Here was a delightful question. Waverley,
however, justly concluded that this good lady had the whole army-list
by heart; and, to avoid detection by adhering to truth, answered,
'Gardiner's dragoons, ma'am; but I have retired some time.'
'O aye, those as won the race at the battle of Preston, as my Nosebag
says. Pray, sir, were you there?'
'I was so unfortunate, madam,' he replied, 'as to witness that
engagement.'
'And that was a misfortune that few of Gardiner's stood to witness, I
believe, sir--ha! ha! ha! I beg your pardon; but a soldier's wife loves a
joke.'
'Devil confound you,' thought Waverley: 'what infernal luck has penned
me up with this inquisitive hag!'
Fortunately the good lady did not stick long to one subject. 'We are
coming to Ferrybridge now,' she said, 'where there was a party of
OURS left to support the beadles, and constables, and justices, and
these sort of creatures that are examining papers and stopping rebels,
and all that.' They were hardly in the inn before she dragged Waverley
to the window, exclaiming, 'Yonder comes Corporal Bridoon, of our
poor dear troop; he's coming with the constable man. Bridoon's one of
my lambs, as Nosebag calls 'ern. Come, Mr.--a--a--pray, what's your
name, sir?'
'Butler, ma'am,' said Waverley, resolved rather to make free with the
name of a former fellow-officer than run the risk of detection by
inventing one not to be found in the regiment.
'O, you got a troop lately, when that shabby fellow, Waverley, went
over to the rebels? Lord, I wish our old cross Captain Crump would go
over to the rebels, that Nosebag might get the troop! Lord, what can
Bridoon be standing swinging on the bridge for? I'll be hanged if he a'nt
hazy, as Nosebag says. Come, sir, as you and I belong to the service,
we'll go put the rascal in mind of his duty.'
Waverley, with feelings more easily conceived than described, saw
himself obliged to follow this doughty female commander. The gallant
trooper was as like a lamb as a drunk corporal of dragoons, about six
feet high, with very broad shoulders, and very thin legs, not to mention
a great scar across his nose, could well be. Mrs. Nosebag addressed him
with something which, if not an oath, sounded very like one, and
commanded him to attend to his duty. 'You be d--d for a----,'
commenced the gallant cavalier; but, looking up in order to suit the
action to the words, and also to enforce the epithet which he meditated
with an adjective applicable to the party, he recognised the speaker,
made his military salaam, and altered his tone. 'Lord love your
handsome face, Madam Nosebag, is it you? Why, if a poor fellow does
happen to fire a slug of a morning, I am sure you were never the lady to
bring him to harm.'
'Well, you rascallion, go, mind your duty; this gentleman and I belong
to the service; but be sure you look after that shy cock in the slouched
hat that sits in the corner of the coach. I believe he's one of the rebels in
disguise.'
'D--n her gooseberry wig,' said the corporal, when she was out of
hearing, 'that gimlet-eyed jade--mother adjutant, as we call her--is a
greater plague to the regiment than provost-marshal, sergeant-major,
and old Hubble-de-Shuff, the colonel, into the bargain. Come, Master
Constable, let's see if this shy cock, as she calls him (who, by the way,
was a Quaker from Leeds, with whom Mrs. Nosebag had had some tart
argument on the legality of bearing arms), will stand godfather to a sup
of brandy, for your Yorkshire ale is cold on my stomach.'
The vivacity of this good lady, as it helped Edward out of this scrape,
was like to have drawn him into one or two others. In every town where
they stopped she wished to examine the corps de garde, if there was
one, and once very narrowly missed introducing Waverley to a
recruiting-sergeant of his own regiment. Then she Captain'd and
Butler'd him till he was almost mad with vexation and anxiety; and
never was he more rejoiced in his life at the termination of a journey
than when the arrival of the coach in London freed him from the
attentions of Madam Nosebag.
CHAPTER XXXIII
WHAT'S TO BE DONE NEXT?
Itwas twilight when they arrived in town; and having shaken off his
companions, and walked through a good many streets to avoid the
possibility of being traced by them, Edward took a hackney-coach and
drove to Colonel Talbot's house, in one of the principal squares at the
west end of the town. That gentleman, by the death of relations, had
succeeded since his marriage to a large fortune, possessed considerable
political interest, and lived in what is called great style.
When Waverley knocked at his door he found it at first difficult to
procure admittance, but at length was shown into an apartment where
the Colonel was at table. Lady Emily, whose very beautiful features
were still pallid from indisposition, sate opposite to him. The instant he
heard Waverley's voice, he started up and embraced him. 'Frank
Stanley, my dear boy, how d'ye do? Emily, my love, this is young
Stanley.'
The blood started to the lady's cheek as she gave Waverley a reception
in which courtesy was mingled with kindness, while her trembling
hand and faltering voice showed how much she was startled and
discomposed. Dinner was hastily replaced, and while Waverley was
engaged in refreshing himself, the Colonel proceeded--'I wonder you
have come here, Frank; the Doctors tell me the air of London is very
bad for your complaints. You should not have risked it. But I am
delighted to see you, and so is Emily, though I fear we must not reckon
upon your staying long.'
'Some particular business brought me up,' muttered Waverley.
'I supposed so, but I shan't allow you to stay long. Spontoon' (to an
elderly military-looking servant out of livery),'take away these things,
and answer the bell yourself, if I ring. Don't let any of the other fellows
disturb us. My nephew and I have business to talk of.'
When the servants had retired, 'In the name of God, Waverley, what
has brought you here? It may be as much as your life is worth.'
'Dear Mr. Waverley,' said Lady Emily, 'to whom I owe so much more
than acknowledgments can ever pay, how could you be so rash?'
'My father--my uncle--this paragraph,'--he handed the paper to Colonel
Talbot.
'I wish to Heaven these scoundrels were condemned to be squeezed to
death in their own presses,' said Talbot. 'I am told there are not less than
a dozen of their papers now published in town, and no wonder that they
are obliged to invent lies to find sale for their journals. It is true,
however, my dear Edward, that you have lost your father; but as to this
flourish of his unpleasant situation having grated upon his spirits and
hurt his health--the truth is--for though it is harsh to say so now, yet it
will relieve your mind from the idea of weighty responsibility--the truth
then is, that Mr. Richard Waverley, through this whole business,
showed great want of sensibility, both to your situation and that of your
uncle; and the last time I saw him, he told me, with great glee, that, as I
was so good as to take charge of your interests, he had thought it best to
patch up a separate negotiation for himself, and make his peace with
government through some channels which former connexions left still
open to him.'
'And my uncle, my dear uncle?'
'Is in no danger whatever. It is true (looking at the date of the paper)
there was a foolish report some time ago to the purport here quoted, but
it is entirely false. Sir Everard is gone down to Waverley-Honour, freed
from all uneasiness, unless upon your own account. But you are in peril
yourself; your name is in every proclamation; warrants are out to
apprehend you. How and when did you come here?'
Edward told his story at length, suppressing his quarrel with Fergus; for,
being himself partial to Highlanders, he did not wish to give any
advantage to the Colonel's national prejudice against them.
'Are you sure it was your friend Glen's foot-boy you saw dead in
Clifton Moor?'
'Quite positive.'
'Then that little limb of the devil has cheated the gallows, for cut-throat
was written in his face; though (turning to Lady Emily) it was a very
handsome face too. But for you, Edward, I wish you would go down
again to Cumberland, or rather I wish you had never stirred from thence,
for there is an embargo in all the seaports, and a strict search for the
adherents of the Pretender; and the tongue of that confounded woman
will wag in her head like the clack of a mill, till somehow or other she
will detect Captain Butler to be a feigned personage.'
'Do you know anything,' asked Waverley, 'of my fellow-traveller?'
'Her husband was my sergeant-major for six years; she was a buxom
widow, with a little money; he married her, was steady, and got on by
being a good drill. I must send Spontoon to see what she is about; he
will find her out among the old regimental connections. To-morrow
you must be indisposed, and keep your room from fatigue. Lady Emily
is to be your nurse, and Spontoon and I your attendants. You bear the
name of a near relation of mine, whom none of my present people ever
saw, except Spontoon, so there will be no immediate danger. So pray
feel your head ache and your eyes grow heavy as soon as possible, that
you may be put upon the sick-list; and, Emily, do you order an
apartment for Frank Stanley, with all the attentions which an invalid
may require.'
In the morning the Colonel visited his guest. 'Now,' said he, 'I have
some good news for you. Your reputation as a gentleman and officer is
effectually cleared of neglect of duty and accession to the mutiny in
Gardiner's regiment. I have had a correspondence on this subject with a
very zealous friend of yours, your Scottish parson, Morton; his first
letter was addressed to Sir Everard; but I relieved the good Baronet of
the trouble of answering it. You must know, that your free-booting
acquaintance, Donald of the Cave, has at length fallen into the hands of
the Philistines. He was driving off the cattle of a certain proprietor,
called Killan--something or other--'
'Killancureit?'
'The same. Now the gentleman being, it seems, a great farmer, and
having a special value for his breed of cattle, being, moreover, rather of
a timid disposition, had got a party of soldiers to protect his property.
So Donald ran his head unawares into the lion's mouth, and was
defeated and made prisoner. Being ordered for execution, his
conscience was assailed on the one hand by a Catholic priest, on the
other by your friend Morton. He repulsed the Catholic chiefly on
account of the doctrine of extreme unction, which this economical
gentleman considered as an excessive waste of oil. So his conversion
from a state of impenitence fell to Mr. Morton's share, who, I daresay,
acquitted himself excellently, though I suppose Donald made but a
queer kind of Christian after all. He confessed, however, before a
magistrate, one Major Melville, who seems to have been a correct,
friendly sort of person, his full intrigue with Houghton, explaining
particularly how it was carried on, and fully acquitting you of the least
accession to it. He also mentioned his rescuing you from the hands of
the volunteer officer, and sending you, by orders of the Pret--Chevalier,
I mean--as a prisoner to Doune, from whence he understood you were
carried prisoner to Edinburgh. These are particulars which cannot but
tell in your favour. He hinted that he had been employed to deliver and
protect you, and rewarded for doing so; but he would not confess by
whom, alleging that, though he would not have minded breaking any
ordinary oath to satisfy the curiosity of Mr. Morton, to whose pious
admonitions he owed so much, yet, in the present case he had been
sworn to silence upon the edge of his dirk, [Footnote: See Note 38.]
which, it seems, constituted, in his opinion, an inviolable obligation.'
'And what is become of him?'
'Oh, he was hanged at Stirling after the rebels raised the siege, with his
lieutenant and four plaids besides; he having the advantage of a gallows
more lofty than his friends.'
'Well, I have little cause either to regret or rejoice at his death; and yet
he has done me both good and harm to a very considerable extent.'
'His confession, at least, will serve you materially, since it wipes from
your character all those suspicions which gave the accusation against
you a complexion of a nature different from that with which so many
unfortunate gentlemen, now or lately in arms against the government,
may be justly charged. Their treason--I must give it its name, though
you participate in its guilt--is an action arising from mistaken virtue,
and therefore cannot be classed as a disgrace, though it be doubtless
highly criminal. Where the guilty are so numerous, clemency must be
extended to far the greater number; and I have little doubt of procuring
a remission for you, providing we can keep you out of the claws of
justice till she has selected and gorged upon her victims; for in this, as
in other cases, it will be according to the vulgar proverb, "First come,
first served." Besides, government are desirous at present to intimidate
the English Jacobites, among whom they can find few examples for
punishment. This is a vindictive and timid feeling which will soon wear
off, for of all nations the English are least blood-thirsty by nature. But
it exists at present, and you must therefore be kept out of the way in the
mean-time.'
Now entered Spontoon with an anxious countenance. By his regimental
acquaintances he had traced out Madam Nosebag, and found her full of
ire, fuss, and fidget at discovery of an impostor who had travelled from
the north with her under the assumed name of Captain Butler of
Gardiner's dragoons. She was going to lodge an information on the
subject, to have him sought for as an emissary of the Pretender; but
Spontoon (an old soldier), while he pretended to approve, contrived to
make her delay her intention. No time, however, was to be lost: the
accuracy of this good dame's description might probably lead to the
discovery that Waverley was the pretended Captain Butler, an
identification fraught with danger to Edward, perhaps to his uncle, and
even to Colonel Talbot. Which way to direct his course was now,
therefore, the question.
'To Scotland,' said Waverley.
'To Scotland?' said the Colonel; 'with what purpose? not to engage
again with the rebels, I hope?'
'No; I considered my campaign ended when, after all my efforts, I
could not rejoin them; and now, by all accounts, they are gone to make
a winter campaign in the Highlands, where such adherents as I am
would rather be burdensome than useful. Indeed, it seems likely that
they only prolong the war to place the Chevalier's person out of danger,
and then to make some terms for themselves. To burden them with my
presence would merely add another party, whom they would not give
up and could not defend. I understand they left almost all their English
adherents in garrison at Carlisle, for that very reason. And on a more
general view, Colonel, to confess the truth, though it may lower me in
your opinion, I am heartly tired of the trade of war, and am, as
Fletcher's Humorous Lieutenant says, "even as weary of this fighting-'"
'Fighting! pooh, what have you seen but a skirmish or two? Ah! if you
saw war on the grand scale--sixty or a hundred thousand men in the
field on each side!'
'I am not at all curious, Colonel. "Enough," says our homely proverb,
"is as good as a feast." The plumed troops and the big war used to
enchant me in poetry, but the night marches, vigils, couches under the
wintry sky, and such accompaniments of the glorious trade, are not at
all to my taste in practice; then for dry blows, I had MY fill of fighting
at Clifton, where I escaped by a hair's-breadth half a dozen times; and
you, I should think--' He stopped.
'Had enough of it at Preston? you mean to say,' answered the Colonel,
laughing; 'but 'tis my vocation, Hal.'
'It is not mine, though,' said Waverley; 'and having honourably got rid
of the sword, which I drew only as a volunteer, I am quite satisfied with
my military experience, and shall be in no hurry to take it up again.'
'I am very glad you are of that mind; but then what would you do in the
north?'
'In the first place, there are some seaports on the eastern coast of
Scotland still in the hands of the Chevalier's friends; should I gain any
of them, I can easily embark for the Continent.'
'Good, your second reason?'
'Why, to speak the very truth, there is a person in Scotland upon whom
I now find my happiness depends more than I was always aware, and
about whose situation I am very anxious.'
'Then Emily was right, and there is a love affair in the case after all?
And which of these two pretty Scotchwomen, whom you insisted upon
my admiring, is the distinguished fair? not Miss Glen--I hope.'
'No.'
'Ah, pass for the other; simplicity may be improved, but pride and
conceit never. Well, I don't discourage you; I think it will please Sir
Everard, from what he said when I jested with him about it; only I hope
that intolerable papa, with his brogue, and his snuff, and his Latin, and
his insufferable long stories about the Duke of Berwick, will find it
necessary hereafter to be an inhabitant of foreign parts. But as to the
daughter, though I think you might find as fitting a match in England,
yet if your heart be really set upon this Scotch rosebud, why the
Baronet has a great opinion of her father and of his family, and he
wishes much to see you married and settled, both for your own sake
and for that of the three ermines passant, which may otherwise pass
away altogether. But I will bring you his mind fully upon the subject,
since you are debarred correspondence for the present, for I think you
will not be long in Scotland before me.'
'Indeed! and what can induce you to think of returning to Scotland? No
relenting longings towards the land of mountains and floods, I am
afraid.'
'None, on my word; but Emily's health is now, thank God, reestablished,
and, to tell you the truth, I have little hopes of concluding the business
which I have at present most at heart until I can have a personal
interview with his Royal Highness the Commander-in-Chief; for, as
Fluellen says, "the duke doth love me well, and I thank heaven I have
deserved some love at his hands." I am now going out for an hour or
two to arrange matters for your departure; your liberty extends to the
next room, Lady Emily's parlour, where you will find her when you are
disposed for music, reading, or conversation. We have taken measures
to exclude all servants but Spontoon, who is as true as steel.'
In about two hours Colonel Talbot returned, and found his young friend
conversing with his lady; she pleased with his manners and information,
and he delighted at being restored, though but for a moment, to the
society of his own rank, from which he had been for some time
excluded.
'And now,' said the Colonel, 'hear my arrangements, for there is little
time to lose. This youngster, Edward Waverley, alias Williams, alias
Captain Butler, must continue to pass by his fourth ALIAS of Francis
Stanley, my nephew; he shall set out to-morrow for the North, and the
chariot shall take him the first two stages. Spontoon shall then attend
him; and they shall ride post as far as Huntingdon; and the presence of
Spontoon, well known on the road as my servant, will check all
disposition to inquiry. At Huntingdon you will meet the real Frank
Stanley. He is studying at Cambridge; but, a little while ago, doubtful if
Emily's health would permit me to go down to the North myself, I
procured him a passport from the secretary of state's office to go in my
stead. As he went chiefly to look after you, his journey is now
unnecessary. He knows your story; you will dine together at
Huntingdon; and perhaps your wise heads may hit upon some plan for
removing or diminishing the danger of your farther progress north-ward.
And now (taking out a morocco case), let me put you in funds for the
campaign.'
'I am ashamed, my dear Colonel--'
'Nay,' said Colonel Talbot, 'you should command my purse in any event;
but this money is your own. Your father, considering the chance of
your being attainted, left me his trustee for your advantage. So that you
are worth above L15,000, besides Brere-Wood Lodge--a very
independent person, I promise you. There are bills here for L200; any
larger sum you may have, or credit abroad, as soon as your motions
require it.'
The first use which occurred to Waverley of his newly acquired wealth
was to write to honest Farmer Jopson, requesting his acceptance of a
silver tankard on the part of his friend Williams, who had not forgotten
the night of the eighteenth December last. He begged him at the same
time carefully to preserve for him his Highland garb and accoutrements,
particularly the arms, curious in themselves, and to which the
friendship of the donors gave additional value. Lady Emily undertook
to find some suitable token of remembrance likely to flatter the vanity
and please the taste of Mrs. Williams; and the Colonel, who was a kind
of farmer, promised to send the Ullswater patriarch an excellent team
of horses for cart and plough.
One happy day Waverley spent in London; and, travelling in the
manner projected, he met with Frank Stanley at Huntingdon. The two
young men were acquainted in a minute.
'I can read my uncle's riddle,' said Stanley;'the cautious old soldier did
not care to hint to me that I might hand over to you this passport, which
I have no occasion for; but if it should afterwards come out as the
rattle-pated trick of a young Cantab, cela ne tire a rien. You are
therefore to be Francis Stanley, with this passport.' This proposal
appeared in effect to alleviate a great part of the difficulties which
Edward must otherwise have encountered at every turn; and
accordingly he scrupled not to avail himself of it, the more especially
as he had discarded all political purposes from his present journey, and
could not be accused of furthering machinations against the
government while travelling under protection of the secretary's
passport.
The day passed merrily away. The young student was inquisitive about
Waverley's campaigns, and the manners of the Highlands, and Edward
was obliged to satisfy his curiosity by whistling a pibroch, dancing a
strathspey, and singing a Highland song. The next morning Stanley
rode a stage northward with his new friend, and parted from him with
great reluctance, upon the remonstrances of Spontoon, who,
accustomed to submit to discipline, was rigid in enforcing it.
CHAPTER XXXIV
DESOLATION
Waverley riding post, as was the usual fashion of the period, without
any adventure save one or two queries, which the talisman of his
passport sufficiently answered, reached the borders of Scotland. Here
he heard the tidings of the decisive battle of Culloden. It was no more
than he had long expected, though the success at Falkirk had thrown a
faint and setting gleam over the arms of the Chevalier. Yet it came
upon him like a shock, by which he was for a time altogether
unmanned. The generous, the courteous, the noble-minded adventurer
was then a fugitive, with a price upon his head; his adherents, so brave,
so enthusiastic, so faithful, were dead, imprisoned, or exiled. Where,
now, was the exalted and high-souled Fergus, if, indeed, he had
survived the night at Clifton? Where the pure-hearted and primitive
Baron of Bradwardine, whose foibles seemed foils to set off the
disinterestedness of his disposition, the genuine goodness of his heart,
and his unshaken courage? Those who clung for support to these fallen
columns, Rose and Flora, where were they to be sought, and in what
distress must not the loss of their natural protectors have involved them?
Of Flora he thought with the regard of a brother for a sister; of Rose
with a sensation yet more deep and tender. It might be still his fate to
supply the want of those guardians they had lost. Agitated by these
thoughts he precipitated his journey.
When he arrived in Edinburgh, where his inquiries must necessarily
commence, he felt the full difficulty of his situation. Many inhabitants
of that city had seen and known him as Edward Waverley; how, then,
could he avail himself of a passport as Francis Stanley? He resolved,
therefore, to avoid all company, and to move northward as soon as
possible. He was, however, obliged to wait a day or two in expectation
of a letter from Colonel Talbot, and he was also to leave his own
address, under his feigned character, at a place agreed upon. With this
latter purpose he sallied out in the dusk through the well-known streets,
carefully shunning observation, but in vain: one of the first persons
whom he met at once recognised him. It was Mrs. Flockhart, Fergus
Mac-Ivor's good-humoured landlady.
'Gude guide us, Mr. Waverley, is this you? na, ye needna be feared for
me. I wad betray nae gentleman in your circumstances. Eh, lack-a-day!
lack-a-day! here's a change o' markets; how merry Colonel Mac-Ivor
and you used to be in our house!' And the good-natured widow shed a
few natural tears. As there was no resisting her claim of acquaintance,
Waverley acknowledged it with a good grace, as well as the danger of
his own situation. 'As it's near the darkening, sir, wad ye just step in by
to our house and tak a dish o' tea? and I am sure if ye like to sleep in
the little room, I wad tak care ye are no disturbed, and naebody wad
ken ye; for Kate and Matty, the limmers, gaed aff wi' twa o' Hawley's
dragoons, and I hae twa new queans instead o' them.'
Waverley accepted her invitation, and engaged her lodging for a night
or two, satisfied he should be safer in the house of this simple creature
than anywhere else. When he entered the parlour his heart swelled to
see Fergus's bonnet, with the white cockade, hanging beside the little
mirror.
'Ay,' said Mrs. Flockhart, sighing, as she observed the direction of his
eyes, 'the puir Colonel bought a new ane just the day before they
marched, and I winna let them tak that ane doun, but just to brush it
ilka day mysell; and whiles I look at it till I just think I hear him cry to
Callum to bring him his bonnet, as he used to do when he was ganging
out. It's unco silly--the neighbours ca' me a Jacobite, but they may say
their say--I am sure it's no for that--but he was as kind-hearted a
gentleman as ever lived, and as weel-fa'rd too. Oh, d'ye ken, sir, when
he is to suffer?'
'Suffer! Good heaven! Why, where is he?'
'Eh, Lord's sake! d'ye no ken? The poor Hieland body, Dugald Mahony,
cam here a while syne, wi' ane o' his arms cuttit off, and a sair clour in
the head--ye'll mind Dugald, he carried aye an axe on his shouther--and
he cam here just begging, as I may say, for something to eat. Aweel, he
tauld us the Chief, as they ca'd him (but I aye ca' him the Colonel), and
Ensign Maccombich, that ye mind weel, were ta'en somewhere beside
the English border, when it was sae dark that his folk never missed him
till it was ower late, and they were like to gang clean daft. And he said
that little Callum Beg (he was a bauld mischievous callant that) and
your honour were killed that same night in the tuilzie, and mony mae
braw men. But he grat when he spak o' the Colonel, ye never saw the
like. And now the word gangs the Colonel is to be tried, and to suffer
wi' them that were ta'en at Carlisle.'
'And his sister?'
'Ay, that they ca'd the Lady Flora--weel, she's away up to Carlisle to
him, and lives wi' some grand Papist lady thereabouts to be near him.'
'And,' said Edward,'the other young lady?'
'Whilk other? I ken only of ae sister the Colonel had.'
'I mean Miss Bradwardine,' said Edward.
'Ou, ay; the laird's daughter' said his landlady. 'She was a very bonny
lassie, poor thing, but far shyer than Lady Flora.'
'Where is she, for God's sake?'
'Ou, wha kens where ony o' them is now? puir things, they're sair ta'en
doun for their white cockades and their white roses; but she gaed north
to her father's in Perthshire, when the government troops cam back to
Edinbro'. There was some prettymen amang them, and ane Major
Whacker was quartered on me, a very ceevil gentleman,--but O, Mr.
Waverley, he was naething sae weel fa'rd as the puir Colonel.'
'Do you know what is become of Miss Bradwardine's father?'
'The auld laird? na, naebody kens that. But they say he fought very hard
in that bluidy battle at Inverness; and Deacon Clank, the whit-iron
smith, says that the government folk are sair agane him for having been
out twice; and troth he might hae ta'en warning, but there's nae Me like
an auld fule. The puir Colonel was only out ance.'
Such conversation contained almost all the good-natured widow knew
of the fate of her late lodgers and acquaintances; but it was enough to
determine Edward, at all hazards, to proceed instantly to Tully-Veolan,
where he concluded he should see, or at least hear, something of Rose.
He therefore left a letter for Colonel Talbot at the place agreed upon,
signed by his assumed name, and giving for his address the post-town
next to the Baron's residence.
From Edinburgh to Perth he took post-horses, resolving to make the
rest of his journey on foot; a mode of travelling to which he was partial,
and which had the advantage of permitting a deviation from the road
when he saw parties of military at a distance. His campaign had
considerably strengthened his constitution and improved his habits of
enduring fatigue. His baggage he sent before him as opportunity
occurred.
As he advanced northward, the traces of war became visible. Broken
carriages, dead horses, unroofed cottages, trees felled for palisades, and
bridges destroyed or only partially repaired--all indicated the
movements of hostile armies. In those places where the gentry were
attached to the Stuart cause, their houses seemed dismantled or deserted,
the usual course of what may be called ornamental labour was totally
interrupted, and the inhabitants were seen gliding about, with fear,
sorrow, and dejection on their faces.
It was evening when he approached the village of Tully-Veolan, with
feelings and sentiments--how different from those which attended his
first entrance! Then, life was so new to him that a dull or disagreeable
day was one of the greatest misfortunes which his imagination
anticipated, and it seemed to him that his time ought only to be
consecrated to elegant or amusing study, and relieved by social or
youthful frolic. Now, how changed! how saddened, yet how elevated
was his character, within the course of a very few months! Danger and
misfortune are rapid, though severe teachers. 'A sadder and a wiser
man,' he felt in internal confidence and mental dignity a compensation
for the gay dreams which in his case experience had so rapidly
dissolved.
As he approached the village he saw, with surprise and anxiety, that a
party of soldiers were quartered near it, and, what was worse, that they
seemed stationary there. This he conjectured from a few tents which he
beheld glimmering upon what was called the Common Moor. To avoid
the risk of being stopped and questioned in a place where he was so
likely to be recognised, he made a large circuit, altogether avoiding the
hamlet, and approaching the upper gate of the avenue by a by-path well
known to him. A single glance announced that great changes had taken
place. One half of the gate, entirely destroyed and split up for firewood,
lay in piles, ready to be taken away; the other swung uselessly about
upon its loosened hinges. The battlements above the gate were broken
and thrown down, and the carved bears, which were said to have done
sentinel's duty upon the top for centuries, now, hurled from their posts,
lay among the rubbish. The avenue was cruelly wasted. Several large
trees were felled and left lying across the path; and the cattle of the
villagers, and the more rude hoofs of dragoon horses, had poached into
black mud the verdant turf which Waverley had so much admired.
Upon entering the court-yard, Edward saw the fears realised which
these circumstances had excited. The place had been sacked by the
King's troops, who, in wanton mischief, had even attempted to burn it;
and though the thickness of the walls had resisted the fire, unless to a
partial extent, the stables and out-houses were totally consumed. The
towers and pinnacles of the main building were scorched and blackened;
the pavement of the court broken and shattered, the doors torn down
entirely, or hanging by a single hinge, the windows dashed in and
demolished, and the court strewed with articles of furniture broken into
fragments. The accessaries of ancient distinction, to which the Baron,
in the pride of his heart, had attached so much importance and
veneration, were treated with peculiar contumely. The fountain was
demolished, and the spring which had supplied it now flooded the
court-yard. The stone basin seemed to be destined for a drinking-trough
for cattle, from the manner in which it was arranged upon the ground.
The whole tribe of bears, large and small, had experienced as little
favour as those at the head of the avenue, and one or two of the family
pictures, which seemed to have served as targets for the soldiers, lay on
the ground in tatters. With an aching heart, as may well be imagined,
Edward viewed this wreck of a mansion so respected. But his anxiety
to learn the fate of the proprietors, and his fears as to what that fate
might be, increased with every step. When he entered upon the terrace
new scenes of desolation were visible. The balustrade was broken down,
the walls destroyed, the borders overgrown with weeds, and the
fruit-trees cut down or grubbed up. In one compartment of this
old-fashioned garden were two immense horse-chestnut trees, of whose
size the Baron was particularly vain; too lazy, perhaps, to cut them
down, the spoilers, with malevolent ingenuity, had mined them and
placed a quantity of gunpowder in the cavity. One had been shivered to
pieces by the explosion, and the fragments lay scattered around,
encumbering the ground it had so long shadowed. The other mine had
been more partial in its effect. About one-fourth of the trunk of the tree
was torn from the mass, which, mutilated and defaced on the one side,
still spread on the other its ample and undiminished boughs. [Footnote:
A pair of chestnut trees, destroyed, the one entirely and the other in part,
by such a mischievous and wanton act of revenge, grew at Invergarry
Castle, the fastness of MacDonald of Glengarry.]
Amid these general marks of ravage, there were some which more
particularly addressed the feelings of Waverley. Viewing the front of
the building thus wasted and defaced, his eyes naturally sought the little
balcony which more properly belonged to Rose's apartment, her
troisieme, or rather cinquieme, etage. It was easily discovered, for
beneath it lay the stage-flowers and shrubs with which it was her pride
to decorate it, and which had been hurled from the bartizan; several of
her books were mingled with broken flower-pots and other remnants.
Among these Waverley distinguished one of his own, a small copy of
Ariosto, and gathered it as a treasure, though wasted by the wind and
rain.
While, plunged in the sad reflections which the scene excited, he was
looking around for some one who might explain the fate of the
inhabitants, he heard a voice from the interior of the building singing,
in well-remembered accents, an old Scottish song:-They came upon us in the night, And brake my bower and slew my
knight; My servants a' for life did flee, And left us in extremitie.
They slew my knight, to me sae dear; They slew my knight, and drave
his gear; The moon may set, the sun may rise, But a deadly sleep has
closed his eyes.
[Footnote: The first three couplets are from an old ballad, called the
Border Widow's Lament.]
'Alas,' thought Edward, 'is it thou? Poor helpless being, art thou alone
left, to gibber and moan, and fill with thy wild and unconnected scraps
of minstrelsy the halls that protected thee?' He then called, first low,
and then louder, 'Davie--Davie Gellatley!'
The poor simpleton showed himself from among the ruins of a sort of
greenhouse, that once terminated what was called the terrace-walk, but
at first sight of a stranger retreated, as if in terror. Waverley,
remembering his habits, began to whistle a tune to which he was partial,
which Davie had expressed great pleasure in listening to, and had
picked up from him by the ear. Our hero's minstrelsy no more equalled
that of Blondel than poor Davie resembled Coeur de Lion; but the
melody had the same effect of producing recognition. Davie again stole
from his lurking-place, but timidly, while Waverley, afraid of
frightening him, stood making the most encouraging signals he could
devise. 'It's his ghaist,' muttered Davie; yet, coming nearer, he seemed
to acknowledge his living acquaintance. The poor fool himself
appeared the ghost of what he had been. The peculiar dress in which he
had been attired in better days showed only miserable rags of its
whimsical finery, the lack of which was oddly supplied by the remnants
of tapestried hangings, window-curtains, and shreds of pictures with
which he had bedizened his tatters. His face, too, had lost its vacant and
careless air, and the poor creature looked hollow-eyed, meagre,
half-starved, and nervous to a pitiable degree. After long hesitation, he
at length approached Waverley with some confidence, stared him sadly
in the face, and said, 'A' dead and gane--a' dead and gane.'
'Who are dead?' said Waverley, forgetting the incapacity of Davie to
hold any connected discourse.
'Baron, and Bailie, and Saunders Saunderson, and Lady Rose that sang
sae sweet--a' dead and gane--dead and gane;
But follow, follow me, While glowworms light the lea, I'll show ye
where the dead should be-- Each in his shroud, While winds pipe loud,
And the red moon peeps dim through the cloud. Follow, follow me;
Brave should he be That treads by night the dead man's lea.'
With these words, chanted in a wild and earnest tone, he made a sign to
Waverley to follow him, and walked rapidly towards the bottom of the
garden, tracing the bank of the stream which, it may be remembered,
was its eastern boundary. Edward, over whom an involuntary
shuddering stole at the import of his words, followed him in some hope
of an explanation. As the house was evidently deserted, he could not
expect to find among the ruins any more rational informer.
Davie, walking very fast, soon reached the extremity of the garden, and
scrambled over the ruins of the wall that once had divided it from the
wooded glen in which the old tower of Tully-Veolan was situated. He
then jumped down into the bed of the stream, and, followed by
Waverley, proceeded at a great pace, climbing over some fragments of
rock and turning with difficulty round others. They passed beneath the
ruins of the castle; Waverley followed, keeping up with his guide with
difficulty, for the twilight began to fall. Following the descent of the
stream a little lower, he totally lost him, but a twinkling light which he
now discovered among the tangled copse-wood and bushes seemed a
surer guide. He soon pursued a very uncouth path; and by its guidance
at length reached the door of a wretched hut. A fierce barking of dogs
was at first heard, but it stilled at his approach. A voice sounded from
within, and he held it most prudent to listen before he advanced.
'Wha hast thou brought here, thou unsonsy villain, thou?' said an old
woman, apparently in great indignation. He heard Davie Gellatley in
answer whistle a part of the tune by which he had recalled himself to
the simpleton's memory, and had now no hesitation to knock at the
door. There was a dead silence instantly within, except the deep
growling of the dogs; and he next heard the mistress of the hut
approach the door, not probably for the sake of undoing a latch, but of
fastening a bolt. To prevent this Waverley lifted the latch himself.
In front was an old wretched-looking woman, exclaiming, 'Wha comes
into folk's houses in this gate, at this time o' the night?' On one side,
two grim and half-starved deer greyhounds laid aside their ferocity at
his appearance, and seemed to recognise him. On the other side, half
concealed by the open door, yet apparently seeking that concealment
reluctantly, with a cocked pistol in his right hand and his left in the act
of drawing another from his belt, stood a tall bony gaunt figure in the
remnants of a faded uniform and a beard of three weeks' growth. It was
the Baron of Bradwardine. It is unnecessary to add, that he threw aside
his weapon and greeted Waverley with a hearty embrace.
CHAPTER XXXV
COMPARING OF NOTES
Thearon's story was short, when divested of the adages and
commonplaces, Latin, English, and Scotch, with which his erudition
garnished it. He insisted much upon his grief at the loss of Edward and
of Glennaquoich, fought the fields of Falkirk and Culloden, and related
how, after all was lost in the last battle, he had returned home, under
the idea of more easily finding shelter among his own tenants and on
his own estate than elsewhere. A party of soldiers had been sent to lay
waste his property, for clemency was not the order of the day. Their
proceedings, however, were checked by an order from the civil court.
The estate, it was found, might not be forfeited to the crown to the
prejudice of Malcolm Bradwardine of Inch-Grabbit, the heir-male,
whose claim could not be prejudiced by the Baron's attainder, as
deriving no right through him, and who, therefore, like other heirs of
entail in the same situation, entered upon possession. But, unlike many
in similar circumstances, the new laird speedily showed that he
intended utterly to exclude his predecessor from all benefit or
advantage in the estate, and that it was his purpose to avail himself of
the old Baron's evil fortune to the full extent. This was the more
ungenerous, as it was generally known that, from a romantic idea of not
prejudicing this young man's right as heir-male, the Baron had
refrained from settling his estate on his daughter.
This selfish injustice was resented by the country people, who were
partial to their old master, and irritated against his successor. In the
Baron's own words, 'The matter did not coincide with the feelings of
the commons of Bradwardine, Mr. Waverley; and the tenants were
slack and repugnant in payment of their mails and duties; and when my
kinsman came to the village wi' the new factor, Mr. James Howie, to
lift the rents, some wanchancy person--I suspect John Heatherblutter,
the auld gamekeeper, that was out wi' me in the year fifteen--fired a
shot at him in the gloaming, whereby he was so affrighted, that I may
say with Tullius In Catilinam, "Abiit, evasit, erupit, effugit." He fled,
sir, as one may say, incontinent to Stirling. And now he hath advertised
the estate for sale, being himself the last substitute in the entail. And if I
were to lament about sic matters, this would grieve me mair than its
passing from my immediate possession, whilk, by the course of nature,
must have happened in a few years; whereas now it passes from the
lineage that should have possessed it in scecula saculorum. But God's
will be done, humana perpessi sumus. Sir John of Bradwardine--Black
Sir John, as he is called--who was the common ancestor of our house
and the Inch-Grabbits, little thought such a person would have sprung
from his loins. Mean time, he has accused me to some of the primates,
the rulers for the time, as if I were a cut-throat, and an abettor of
bravoes and assassinates and coupe-jarrets. And they have sent soldiers
here to abide on the estate, and hunt me like a partridge upon the
mountains, as Scripture says of good King David, or like our valiant Sir
William Wallace--not that I bring myself into comparison with either. I
thought, when I heard you at the door, they had driven the auld deer to
his den at last; and so I e'en proposed to die at bay, like a buck of the
first head. But now, Janet, canna ye gie us something for supper?' 'Ou
ay, sir, I'll brander the moor-fowl that John Heatherblutter brought in
this morning; and ye see puir Davie's roasting the black hen's eggs. I
daur say, Mr. Wauverley, ye never kend that a' the eggs that were sae
weel roasted at supper in the Ha'-house were aye turned by our Davie?
there's no the like o' him ony gate for powtering wi' his fingers amang
the het peat-ashes and roasting eggs.' Davie all this while lay with his
nose almost in the fire, nuzzling among the ashes, kicking his heels,
mumbling to himself, turning the eggs as they lay in the hot embers, as
if to confute the proverb, that 'there goes reason to roasting of eggs,'
and justify the eulogium which poor Janet poured out upon
Him whom she loved, her idiot boy.
'Davie's no sae silly as folk tak him for, Mr. Wauverley; he wadna hae
brought you here unless he had kend ye was a friend to his Honour;
indeed the very dogs kend ye, Mr. Wauverley, for ye was aye kind to
beast and body. I can tell you a story o' Davie, wi' his Honour's leave.
His Honour, ye see, being under hiding in thae sair times--the mair's the
pity--he lies a' day, and whiles a' night, in the cove in the dern hag; but
though it's a bieldy eneugh bit, and the auld gudeman o' Corse-Cleugh
has panged it wi' a kemple o' strae amaist, yet when the country's quiet,
and the night very cauld, his Honour whiles creeps doun here to get a
warm at the ingle and a sleep amang the blankets, and gangs awa in the
morning. And so, ae morning, siccan a fright as I got! Twa unlucky
red-coats were up for black-fishing, or some siccan ploy--for the neb o'
them's never out o' mischief--and they just got a glisk o' his Honour as
he gaed into the wood, and banged aff a gun at him. I out like a
jer-falcon, and cried--"Wad they shoot an honest woman's poor
innocent bairn?" And I fleyt at them, and threepit it was my son; and
they damned and swuir at me that it was the auld rebel, as the villains
ca'd his Honour; and Davie was in the wood, and heard the tuilzie, and
he, just out o' his ain head, got up the auld grey mantle that his Honour
had flung off him to gang the faster, and he cam out o' the very same
bit o' the wood, majoring and looking about sae like his Honour, that
they were clean beguiled, and thought they had letten aff their gun at
crack-brained Sawney, as they ca' him; and they gae me saxpence, and
twa saumon fish, to say naething about it. Na, na, Davie's no just like
other folk, puir fallow; but he's no sae silly as folk tak him for. But, to
be sure, how can we do eneugh for his Honour, when we and ours have
lived on his ground this twa hundred years; and when he keepit my puir
Jamie at school and college, and even at the Ha'-house, till he gaed to a
better place; and when he saved me frae being ta'en to Perth as a
witch--Lord forgi'e them that would touch sic a puir silly auld
body!--and has maintained puir Davie at heck and manger maist feck o'
his life?'
Waverley at length found an opportunity to interrupt Janet's narrative
by an inquiry after Miss Bradwardine.
'She's weel and safe, thank God! at the Duchran,' answered the Baron;
'the laird's distantly related to us, and more nearly to my chaplain, Mr.
Rubrick; and, though he be of Whig principles, yet he's not forgetful of
auld friendship at this time. The Bailie's doing what he can to save
something out of the wreck for puir Rose; but I doubt, I doubt, I shall
never see her again, for I maun lay my banes in some far country.'
'Hout na, your Honour,' said old Janet, 'ye were just as ill aff in the
feifteen, and got the bonnie baronie back, an' a'. And now the eggs is
ready, and the muir-cock's brandered, and there's ilk ane a trencher and
some saut, and the heel o' the white loaf that cam frae the Bailie's, and
there's plenty o' brandy in the greybeard that Luckie Maclearie sent
doun, and winna ye be suppered like princes?'
'I wish one Prince, at least, of our acquaintance may be no worse off,'
said the Baron to Waverley, who joined him in cordial hopes for the
safety of the unfortunate Chevalier.
They then began to talk of their future prospects. The Baron's plan was
very simple. It was, to escape to France, where, by the interest of his
old friends, he hoped to get some military employment, of which he
still conceived himself capable. He invited Waverley to go with him, a
proposal in which he acquiesced, providing the interest of Colonel
Talbot should fail in procuring his pardon. Tacitly he hoped the Baron
would sanction his addresses to Rose, and give him a right to assist him
in his exile; but he forbore to speak on this subject until his own fate
should be decided. They then talked of Glennaquoich, for whom the
Baron expressed great anxiety, although, he observed, he was 'the very
Achilles of Horatius Flaccus,-Impiger, iracundus, inexorabilis, acer; which,' he continued, 'has been
thus rendered (vernacularly) by Struan Robertson:-A fiery etter-cap, a fractious chiel, As het as ginger, and as stieve as
steel.'
Flora had a large and unqualified share of the good old man's
sympathy.
It was now wearing late. Old Janet got into some kind of kennel behind
the hallan; Davie had been long asleep and snoring between Ban and
Buscar. These dogs had followed him to the hut after the
mansion-house was deserted, and there constantly resided; and their
ferocity, with the old woman's reputation of being a witch, contributed
a good deal to keep visitors from the glen. With this view, Bailie
Macwheeble provided Janet underhand with meal for their maintenance,
and also with little articles of luxury for his patron's use, in supplying
which much precaution was necessarily used. After some compliments,
the Baron occupied his usual couch, and Waverley reclined in an easy
chair of tattered velvet, which had once garnished the state bed-room of
Tully-Veolan (for the furniture of this mansion was now scattered
through all the cottages in the vicinity), and went to sleep as
comfortably as if he had been in a bed of down.
CHAPTER XXXVI
MORE EXPLANATION
With the first dawn of day, old Janet was scuttling about the house to
wake the Baron, who usually slept sound and heavily.
'I must go back,' he said to Waverley,'to my cove; will you walk down
the glen wi' me?' They went out together, and followed a narrow and
entangled foot-path, which the occasional passage of anglers or
wood-cutters had traced by the side of the stream. On their way the
Baron explained to Waverley that he would be under no danger in
remaining a day or two at Tully-Veolan, and even in being seen
walking about, if he used the precaution of pretending that he was
looking at the estate as agent or surveyor for an English gentleman who
designed to be purchaser. With this view he recommended to him to
visit the Bailie, who still lived at the factor's house, called Little Veolan,
about a mile from the village, though he was to remove at next term.
Stanley's passport would be an answer to the officer who commanded
the military; and as to any of the country people who might recognise
Waverley, the Baron assured him he was in no danger of being
betrayed by them.
'I believe,' said the old man, 'half the people of the barony know that
their poor auld laird is somewhere hereabout; for I see they do not
suffer a single bairn to come here a bird-nesting; a practice whilk, when
I was in full possession of my power as baron, I was unable totally to
inhibit. Nay, I often find bits of things in my way, that the poor bodies,
God help them! leave there, because they think they may be useful to
me. I hope they will get a wiser master, and as kind a one as I was.'
A natural sigh closed the sentence; but the quiet equanimity with which
the Baron endured his misfortunes had something in it venerable and
even sublime. There was no fruitless repining, no turbid melancholy; he
bore his lot, and the hardships which it involved, with a good-humored,
though serious composure, and used no violent language against the
prevailing party.
'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 instances
of address seemed dictated by the instinctive attachment of the poor
simpleton when his patron's safety was concerned.
With Janet, Edward now sought an interview. He had recognised her at
first sight as the old woman who had nursed him during his sickness
after his delivery from Gifted Gilfillan. The hut also, although a little
repaired and somewhat better furnished, was certainly the place of his
confinement; and he now recollected on the common moor of
Tully-Veolan the trunk of a large decayed tree, called the try sting-tree,
which he had no doubt was the same at which the Highlanders
rendezvoused on that memorable night. All this he had combined in his
imagination the night before; but reasons which may probably occur to
the reader prevented him from catechising Janet in the presence of the
Baron.
He now commenced the task in good earnest; and the first question was,
Who was the young lady that visited the hut during his illness? Janet
paused for a little; and then observed, that to keep the secret now would
neither do good nor ill to anybody.
'It was just a leddy that hasna her equal in the world--Miss Rose
Bradwardine!'
'Then Miss Rose was probably also the author of my deliverance,'
inferred Waverley, delighted at the confirmation of an idea which local
circumstances had already induced him to entertain.
'I wot weel, Mr. Wauverley, and that was she e'en; but sair, sair angry
and affronted wad she hae been, puir thing, if she had thought ye had
been ever to ken a word about the matter; for she gar'd me speak aye
Gaelic when ye was in hearing, to mak ye trow we were in the Hielands.
I can speak it weil eneugh, for my mother was a Hieland woman.'
A few more questions now brought out the whole mystery respecting
Waverley's deliverance from the bondage in which he left Cairnvreckan.
Never did music sound sweeter to an amateur than the drowsy
tautology with which old Janet detailed every circumstance thrilled
upon the ears of Waverley. But my reader is not a lover and I must
spare his patience, by attempting to condense within reasonable
compass the narrative which old Janet spread through a harangue of
nearly two hours.
When Waverley communicated to Fergus the letter he had received
from Rose Bradwardine by Davie Gellatley, giving an account of
Tully-Veolan being occupied by a small party of soldiers, that
circumstance had struck upon the busy and active mind of the Chieftain.
Eager to distress and narrow the posts of the enemy, desirous to prevent
their establishing a garrison so near him, and willing also to oblige the
Baron--for he often had the idea of marriage with Rose floating through
his brain--he resolved to send some of his people to drive out the
red-coats and to bring Rose to Glennaquoich. But just as he had
ordered Evan with a small party on this duty, the news of Cope's having
marched into the Highlands, to meet and disperse the forces of the
Chevalier ere they came to a head, obliged him to join the standard
with his whole forces.
He sent to order Donald Bean to attend him; but that cautious
freebooter, who well understood the value of a separate command,
instead of joining, sent various apologies which the pressure of the
times compelled Fergus to admit as current, though not without the
internal resolution of being revenged on him for his procrastination,
time and place convenient. However, as he could not amend the matter,
he issued orders to Donald to descend into the Low Country, drive the
soldiers from Tully-Veolan, and, paying all respect to the mansion of
the Baron, to take his abode somewhere near it, for protection of his
daughter and family, and to harass and drive away any of the armed
volunteers or small parties of military which he might find moving
about the vicinity. As this charge formed a sort of roving commission,
which Donald proposed to interpret in the way most advantageous to
himself, as he was relieved from the immediate terrors of Fergus, and
as he had, from former secret services, some interest in the councils of
the Chevalier, he resolved to make hay while the sun shone. He
achieved without difficulty the task of driving the soldiers from
Tully-Veolan; but, although he did not venture to encroach upon the
interior of the family, or to disturb Miss Rose, being unwilling to make
himself a powerful enemy in the Chevalier's army, For well he knew
the Baron's wrath was deadly; yet he set about to raise contributions
and exactions upon the tenantry, and otherwise to turn the war to his
own advantage. Meanwhile he mounted the white cockade, and waited
upon Rose with a pretext of great devotion for the service in which her
father was engaged, and many apologies for the freedom he must
necessarily use for the support of his people. It was at this moment that
Rose learned, by open-mouthed fame, with all sorts of exaggeration,
that Waverley had killed the smith at Cairnvreckan, in an attempt to
arrest him; had been cast into a dungeon by Major Melville of
Cairnvreckan, and was to be executed by martial law within three days.
In the agony which these tidings excited she proposed to Donald Bean
the rescue of the prisoner. It was the very sort of service which he was
desirous to undertake, judging it might constitute a merit of such a
nature as would make amends for any peccadilloes which he might be
guilty of in the country. He had the art, however, pleading all the while
duty and discipline, to hold off, until poor Rose, in the extremity of her
distress, offered to bribe him to the enterprise with some valuable
jewels which had been her mother's.
Donald Bean, who had served in France, knew, and perhaps
over-estimated, the value of these trinkets. But he also perceived Rose's
apprehensions of its being discovered that she had parted with her
jewels for Waverley's liberation. Resolved this scruple should not part
him and the treasure, he voluntarily offered to take an oath that he
would never mention Miss Rose's share in the transaction; and,
foreseeing convenience in keeping the oath and no probable advantage
in breaking it, he took the engagement--in order, as he told his
lieutenant, to deal handsomely by the young lady--in the only mode and
form which, by a mental paction with himself, he considered as binding:
he swore secrecy upon his drawn dirk. He was the more especially
moved to this act of good faith by some attentions that Miss
Bradwardine showed to his daughter Alice, which, while they gained
the heart of the mountain damsel, highly gratified the pride of her father.
Alice, who could now speak a little English, was very communicative
in return for Rose's kindness, readily confided to her the whole papers
respecting the intrigue with Gardiner's regiment, of which she was the
depositary, and as readily undertook, at her instance, to restore them to
Waverley without her father's knowledge. For 'they may oblige the
bonnie young lady and the handsome young gentleman,' said Alice,
'and what use has my father for a whin bits o' scarted paper?'
The reader is aware that she took an opportunity of executing this
purpose on the eve of Waverley's leaving the glen.
How Donald executed his enterprise the reader is aware. But the
expulsion of the military from Tully-Veolan had given alarm, and
while he was lying in wait for Gilfillan, a strong party, such as Donald
did not care to face, was sent to drive back the insurgents in their turn,
to encamp there, and to protect the country. The officer, a gentleman
and a disciplinarian, neither intruded himself on Miss Bradwardine,
whose unprotected situation he respected, nor permitted his soldiers to
commit any breach of discipline. He formed a little camp upon an
eminence near the house of Tully-Veolan, and placed proper guards at
the passes in the vicinity. This unwelcome news reached Donald Bean
Lean as he was returning to Tully-Veolan. Determined, however, to
obtain the guerdon of his labour, he resolved, since approach to
Tully-Veolan was impossible, to deposit his prisoner in Janet's cottage,
a place the very existence of which could hardly have been suspected
even by those who had long lived in the vicinity, unless they had been
guided thither, and which was utterly unknown to Waverley himself.
This effected, he claimed and received his reward. Waverley's illness
was an event which deranged all their calculat