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Title: Waverley; Or, 'Tis Sixty Years Since — Volume 2

Author: Walter Scott

Release date: January 1, 2004 [eBook #4965]
                Most recently updated: January 13, 2012

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAVERLEY; OR, 'TIS SIXTY YEARS SINCE — VOLUME 2 ***




Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team.









[Transcriber's Note:
I feel that it is important to note that this book is part
of the Caledonian series. The Caledonian series is a group
of 50 books comprising all of Sir Walter Scott's works.]





WAVERLEY

BY SIR WALTER SCOTT

VOLUME II





WAVERLEY

OR 'TIS SIXTY YEARS SINCE





CHAPTER XXXVI

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 XXXVII

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 door 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 XXXVIII

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 Mac-
Farlane's buat (i.e. lantern) [Footnote: See Note 1]. 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 2.] 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 XXXIX

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 3.] 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 XL

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 4.] 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 heir-
loom 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 XLI

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 5.] 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 XLII

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 militaire, 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 XLIII

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 XLIV

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
MacIvor' 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 MacIvor; 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 strike 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
6.]

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 XLV

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, Ruffin? we should have followed you
through flood and fire, to be sure.'

'Ruffin! 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 _garçons
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 that of a kind 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 XLVI

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 notthink 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 XLVII

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 7.] 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 8.]

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 9.]





CHAPTER XLVIII

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'd upon
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 mickle 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 servitio 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 caligae, 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 caligae 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 XLIX

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 L

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 poor 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 LI

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 II.] 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 theless 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 LII

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 LIII

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 hislook 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 LIV

'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 LV

A BRAVE MAN IN SORROW


Ifmy 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 LVI

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 LVII

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 LVIII

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 MacIvors, 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 LIX

A SKIRMISH


Theeader 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 MacIvor; 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 LX

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 LXI

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 LXII

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 14.] 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 LXIII

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 MacIvor 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 LXIV

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 LXV

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
calculations. Donald was obliged to leave the neighbourhood with
his people, and to seek more free course for his adventures
elsewhere. At Rose's entreaty, he left an old man, a herbalist,
who was supposed to understand a little of medicine, to attend
Waverley during his illness.

In the meanwhile, new and fearful doubts started in Rose's mind.
They were suggested by old Janet, who insisted that, a reward
having been offered for the apprehension of Waverley, and his own
personal effects being so valuable, there was no saying to what
breach of faith Donald might be tempted. In an agony of grief and
terror, Rose took the daring resolution of explaining to the
Prince himself the danger in which Mr. Waverley stood, judging
that, both as a politician and a man of honour and humanity,
Charles Edward would interest himself to prevent his falling into
the hands of the opposite party. This letter she at first thought
of sending anonymously, but naturally feared it would not in that
case be credited. She therefore subscribed her name, though with
reluctance and terror, and consigned it in charge to a young man,
who at leaving his farm to join the Chevalier's army, made it his
petition to her to have some sort of credentials to the
adventurer, from whom he hoped to obtain a commission.

The letter reached Charles Edward on his descent to the Lowlands,
and, aware of the political importance of having it supposed that
he was in correspondence with the English Jacobites, he caused the
most positive orders to be transmitted to Donald Bean Lean to
transmit Waverley, safe and uninjured, in person or effects, to
the governor of Doune Castle. The freebooter durst not disobey,
for the army of the Prince was now so near him that punishment
might have followed; besides, he was a politician as well as a
robber, and was unwilling to cancel the interest created through
former secret services by being refractory on this occasion. He
therefore made a virtue of necessity, and transmitted orders to
his lieutenant to convey Edward to Doune, which was safely
accomplished in the mode mentioned in a former chapter. The
governor of Doune was directed to send him to Edinburgh as a
prisoner, because the Prince was apprehensive that Waverley, if
set at liberty, might have resumed his purpose of returning to
England, without affording him an opportunity of a personal
interview. In this, indeed, he acted by the advice of the
Chieftain of Glennaquoich, with whom it may be remembered the
Chevalier communicated upon the mode of disposing of Edward,
though without telling him how he came to learn the place of his
confinement.

This, indeed, Charles Edward considered as a lady's secret; for
although Rose's letter was couched in the most cautious and
general terms, and professed to be written merely from motives of
humanity and zeal for the Prince's service, yet she expressed so
anxious a wish that she should not be known to have interfered,
that the Chevalier was induced to suspect the deep interest which
she took in Waverley's safety. This conjecture, which was well
founded, led, however, to false inferences. For the emotion which
Edward displayed on approaching Flora and Rose at the ball of
Holyrood was placed by the Chevalier to the account of the latter;
and he concluded that the Baron's views about the settlement of
his property, or some such obstacle, thwarted their mutual
inclinations. Common fame, it is true, frequently gave Waverley to
Miss Mac-Ivor; but the Prince knew that common fame is very
prodigal in such gifts; and, watching attentively the behaviour of
the ladies towards Waverley, he had no doubt that the young
Englishman had no interest with Flora, and was beloved by Rose
Bradwardine. Desirous to bind Waverley to his service, and wishing
also to do a kind and friendly action, the Prince next assailed
the Baron on the subject of settling his estate upon his daughter.
Mr. Bradwardine acquiesced; but the consequence was that Fergus
was immediately induced to prefer his double suit for a wife and
an earldom, which the Prince rejected in the manner we have seen.
The Chevalier, constantly engaged in his own multiplied affairs,
had not hitherto sought any explanation with Waverley, though
often meaning to do so. But after Fergus's declaration he saw the
necessity of appearing neutral between the rivals, devoutly hoping
that the matter, which now seemed fraught with the seeds of
strife, might be permitted to lie over till the termination of the
expedition. When, on the march to Derby, Fergus, being questioned
concerning his quarrel with Waverley, alleged as the cause that
Edward was desirous of retracting the suit he had made to his
sister, the Chevalier plainly told him that he had himself
observed Miss Mac-Ivor's behaviour to Waverley, and that he was
convinced Fergus was under the influence of a mistake in judging
of Waverley's conduct, who, he had every reason to believe, was
engaged to Miss Bradwardine. The quarrel which ensued between
Edward and the Chieftain is, I hope, still in the remembrance of
the reader. These circumstances will serve to explain such points
of our narrative as, according to the custom of story-tellers, we
deemed it fit to leave unexplained, for the purpose of exciting
the reader's curiosity.

When Janet had once finished the leading facts of this narrative,
Waverley was easily enabled to apply the clue which they afforded
to other mazes of the labyrinth in which he had been engaged. To
Rose Bradwardine, then, he owed the life which he now thought he
could willingly have laid down to serve her. A little reflection
convinced him, however, that to live for her sake was more
convenient and agreeable, and that, being possessed of
independence, she might share it with him either in foreign
countries or in his own. The pleasure of being allied to a man of
the Baron's high worth, and who was so much valued by his uncle
Sir Everard, was also an agreeable consideration, had anything
been wanting to recommend the match. His absurdities, which had
appeared grotesquely ludicrous during his prosperity, seemed, in
the sunset of his fortune, to be harmonised and assimilated with
the noble features of his character, so as to add peculiarity
without exciting ridicule. His mind occupied with such projects of
future happiness, Edward sought Little Veolan, the habitation of
Mr. Duncan Macwheeble.





CHAPTER LXVI

    Now is Cupid a child of conscience--he makes restitution.

    SHAKSPEARE


Mr. Duncan MacWheeble, no longer Commissary or Bailie, though
still enjoying the empty name of the latter dignity, had escaped
proscription by an early secession from the insurgent party and by
his insignificance.

Edward found him in his office, immersed among papers and
accounts. Before him was a large bicker of oatmeal porridge, and
at the side thereof a horn spoon and a bottle of two-penny.
Eagerly running his eye over a voluminous law-paper, he from time
to time shovelled an immense spoonful of these nutritive viands
into his capacious mouth. A pot-bellied Dutch bottle of brandy
which stood by intimated either that this honest limb of the law
had taken his morning already, or that he meant to season his
porridge with such digestive; or perhaps both circumstances might
reasonably be inferred. His night-cap and morning-gown, had
whilome been of tartan, but, equally cautious and frugal, the
honest Bailie had got them dyed black, lest their original ill-
omened colour might remind his visitors of his unlucky excursion
to Derby. To sum up the picture, his face was daubed with snuff up
to the eyes, and his fingers with ink up to the knuckles. He
looked dubiously at Waverley as he approached the little green
rail which fenced his desk and stool from the approach of the
vulgar. Nothing could give the Bailie more annoyance than the idea
of his acquaintance being claimed by any of the unfortunate
gentlemen who were now so much more likely to need assistance than
to afford profit. But this was the rich young Englishman; who knew
what might be his situation? He was the Baron's friend too; what
was to be done?

While these reflections gave an air of absurd perplexity to the
poor man's visage, Waverley, reflecting on the communication he
was about to make to him, of a nature so ridiculously contrasted
with the appearance of the individual, could not help bursting out
a-laughing, as he checked the propensity to exclaim with Syphax--

    Cato's a proper person to intrust
    A love-tale with.

As Mr. Macwheeble had no idea of any person laughing heartily who
was either encircled by peril or oppressed by poverty, the
hilarity of Edward's countenance greatly relieved the
embarrassment of his own, and, giving him a tolerably hearty
welcome to Little Veolan, he asked what he would choose for
breakfast. His visitor had, in the first place, something for his
private ear, and begged leave to bolt the door. Duncan by no means
liked this precaution, which savoured of danger to be apprehended;
but he could not now draw back.

Convinced he might trust this man, as he could make it his
interest to be faithful, Edward communicated his present situation
and future schemes to Macwheeble. The wily agent listened with
apprehension when he found Waverley was still in a state of
proscription; was somewhat comforted by learning that he had a
passport; rubbed his hands with glee when he mentioned the amount
of his present fortune; opened huge eyes when he heard the
brilliancy of his future expectations; but when he expressed his
intention to share them with Miss Rose Bradwardine, ecstasy had
almost deprived the honest man of his senses. The Bailie started
from his three-footed stool like the Pythoness from her tripod;
flung his best wig out of the window, because the block on which
it was placed stood in the way of his career; chucked his cap to
the ceiling, caught it as it fell; whistled 'Tullochgorum'; danced
a Highland fling with inimitable grace and agility, and then threw
himself exhausted into a chair, exclaiming, 'Lady Wauverley! ten
thousand a year the least penny! Lord preserve my poor
understanding!'

'Amen with all my heart,' said Waverley; 'but now, Mr. Macwheeble,
let us proceed to business.' This word had somewhat a sedative
effect, but the Bailie's head, as he expressed himself, was still
'in the bees.' He mended his pen, however, marked half a dozen
sheets of paper with an ample marginal fold, whipped down Dallas
of St. Martin's 'Styles' from a shelf, where that venerable work
roosted with Stair's 'Institutions,' Dirleton's 'Doubts,'
Balfour's 'Practiques,' and a parcel of old account-books, opened
the volume at the article Contract of Marriage, and prepared to
make what he called a'sma' minute to prevent parties frae
resiling.'

With some difficulty Waverley made him comprehend that he was
going a little too fast. He explained to him that he should want
his assistance, in the first place, to make his residence safe for
the time, by writing to the officer at Tully-Veolan that Mr.
Stanley, an English gentleman nearly related to Colonel Talbot,
was upon a visit of business at Mr. Macwheeble's, and, knowing the
state of the country, had sent his passport for Captain Foster's
inspection. This produced a polite answer from the officer, with
an invitation to Mr. Stanley to dine with him, which was declined
(as may easily be supposed) under pretence of business.

Waverley's next request was, that Mr. Macwheeble would despatch a
man and horse to----, the post-town at which Colonel Talbot was to
address him, with directions to wait there until the post should
bring a letter for Mr. Stanley, and then to forward it to Little
Veolan with all speed. In a moment the Bailie was in search of his
apprentice (or servitor, as he was called Sixty Years Since), Jock
Scriever, and in not much greater space of time Jock was on the
back of the white pony. 'Tak care ye guide him weel, sir, for he's
aye been short in the wind since--ahem--Lord be gude to me! (in a
low voice), I was gaun to come out wi'--since I rode whip and spur
to fetch the Chevalier to redd Mr. Wauverley and Vich lan Vohr;
and an uncanny coup I gat for my pains. Lord forgie your honour! I
might hae broken my neck; but troth it was in a venture, mae ways
nor ane; but this maks amends for a'. Lady Wauverley! ten thousand
a year! Lord be gude unto me!'

'But you forget, Mr. Macwheeble, we want the Baron's consent--the
lady's--'

'Never fear, I'se be caution for them; I'se gie you my personal
warrandice. Ten thousand a year! it dings Balmawhapple out and
out--a year's rent's worth a' Balmawhapple, fee and life-rent!
Lord make us thankful!'

To turn the current of his feelings, Edward inquired if he had
heard anything lately of the Chieftain of Glennaquoich.

'Not one word,' answered Macwheeble, 'but that he was still in
Carlisle Castle, and was soon to be panelled for his life. I dinna
wish the young gentleman ill,' he said, 'but I hope that they that
hae got him will keep him, and no let him back to this Hieland
border to plague us wi' black-mail and a' manner o' violent,
wrongous, and masterfu' oppression and spoliation, both by himself
and others of his causing, sending, and hounding out; and he
couldna tak care o' the siller when he had gotten it neither, but
flung it a' into yon idle quean's lap at Edinburgh; but light come
light gane. For my part, I never wish to see a kilt in the country
again, nor a red-coat, nor a gun, for that matter, unless it were
to shoot a paitrick; they're a' tarr'd wi' ae stick. And when they
have done ye wrang, even when ye hae gotten decreet of spuilzie,
oppression, and violent profits against them, what better are ye?
They hae na a plack to pay ye; ye need never extract it.'

With such discourse, and the intervening topics of business, the
time passed until dinner, Macwheeble meanwhile promising to devise
some mode of introducing Edward at the Duchran, where Rose at
present resided, without risk of danger or suspicion; which seemed
no very easy task, since the laird was a very zealous friend to
government. The poultry-yard had been laid under requisition, and
cockyleeky and Scotch collops soon reeked in the Bailie's little
parlour. The landlord's cork-screw was just introduced into the
muzzle of a pint bottle of claret (cribbed possibly from the
cellars of Tully-Veolan), when the sight of the grey pony passing
the window at full trot induced the Bailie, but with due
precaution, to place it aside for the moment. Enter Jock Scriever
with a packet for Mr. Stanley; it is Colonel Talbot's seal, and
Edward's ringers tremble as he undoes it. Two official papers,
folded, signed, and sealed in all formality, drop out. They were
hastily picked up by the Bailie, who had a natural respect for
everything resembling a deed, and, glancing slily on their titles,
his eyes, or rather spectacles, are greeted with 'Protection by
his Royal Highness to the person of Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine,
Esq., of that ilk, commonly called Baron of Bradwardine, forfeited
for his accession to the late rebellion.' The other proves to be a
protection of the same tenor in favour of Edward Waverley, Esq.
Colonel Talbot's letter was in these words:--

'My DEAR EDWARD,

'I am just arrived here, and yet I have finished my business; it
has cost me some trouble though, as you shall hear. I waited upon
his Royal Highness immediately on my arrival, and found him in no
very good humour for my purpose. Three or four Scotch gentlemen
were just leaving his levee. After he had expressed himself to me
very courteously; "Would you think it," he said, "Talbot, here
have been half a dozen of the most respectable gentlemen and best
friends to government north of the Forth, Major Melville of
Cairnvreckan, Rubrick of Duchran, and others, who have fairly
wrung from me, by their downright importunity, a present
protection and the promise of a future pardon for that stubborn
old rebel whom they call Baron of Bradwardine. They allege that
his high personal character, and the clemency which he showed to
such of our people as fell into the rebels' hands, should weigh in
his favour, especially as the loss of his estate is likely to be a
severe enough punishment. Rubrick has undertaken to keep him at
his own house till things are settled in the country; but it's a
little hard to be forced in a manner to pardon such a mortal enemy
to the House of Brunswick." This was no favourable moment for
opening my business; however, I said I was rejoiced to learn that
his Royal Highness was in the course of granting such requests, as
it emboldened me to present one of the like nature in my own name.
He was very angry, but I persisted; I mentioned the uniform
support of our three votes in, the house, touched modestly on
services abroad, though valuable only in his Royal Highness's
having been pleased kindly to accept them, and founded pretty
strongly on his own expressions of friendship and good-will. He
was embarrassed, but obstinate. I hinted the policy of detaching,
on all future occasions, the heir of such a fortune as your
uncle's from the machinations of the disaffected. But I made no
impression. I mentioned the obligations which I lay under to Sir
Everard and to you personally, and claimed, as the sole reward of
my services, that he would be pleased to afford me the means of
evincing my gratitude. I perceived that he still meditated a
refusal, and, taking my commission from my pocket, I said (as a
last resource) that, as his Royal Highness did not, under these
pressing circumstances, think me worthy of a favour which he had
not scrupled to grant to other gentlemen whose services I could
hardly judge more important than my own, I must beg leave to
deposit, with all humility, my commission in his Royal Highness's
hands, and to retire from the service. He was not prepared for
this; he told me to take up my commission, said some handsome
things of my services, and granted my request. You are therefore
once more a free man, and I have promised for you that you will be
a good boy in future, and remember what you owe to the lenity of
government. Thus you see my prince can be as generous as yours. I
do not pretend, indeed, that he confers a favour with all the
foreign graces and compliments of your Chevalier errant; but he
has a plain English manner, and the evident reluctance with which
he grants your request indicates the sacrifice which he makes of
his own inclination to your wishes. My friend, the adjutant-
general, has procured me a duplicate of the Baron's protection
(the original being in Major Melville's possession), which I send
to you, as I know that if you can find him you will have pleasure
in being the first to communicate the joyful intelligence. He will
of course repair to the Duchran without loss of time, there to
ride quarantine for a few weeks. As for you, I give you leave to
escort him thither, and to stay a week there, as I understand a
certain fair lady is in that quarter. And I have the pleasure to
tell you that whatever progress you can make in her good graces
will be highly agreeable to Sir Everard and Mrs. Rachel, who will
never believe your views and prospects settled, and the three
ermines passant in actual safety, until you present them with a
Mrs. Edward Waverley. Now, certain love-affairs of my own--a good
many years since--interrupted some measures which were then
proposed in favour of the three ermines passant; so I am bound in
honour to make them amends. Therefore make good use of your time,
for, when your week is expired, it will be necessary that you go
to London to plead your pardon in the law courts.

'Ever, dear Waverley, yours most truly, 'PHILIP TALBOT.'





CHAPTER LXVII

    Happy's the wooing
    That's not long a doing


When the first rapturous sensation occasioned by these excellent
tidings had somewhat subsided, Edward proposed instantly to go
down to the glen to acquaint the Baron with their import. But the
cautious Bailie justly observed that, if the Baron were to appear
instantly in public, the tenantry and villagers might become
riotous in expressing their joy, and give offence to 'the powers
that be,' a sort of persons for whom the Bailie always had
unlimited respect. He therefore proposed that Mr. Waverley should
go to Janet Gellatley's and bring the Baron up under cloud of
night to Little Veolan, where he might once more enjoy the luxury
of a good bed. In the meanwhile, he said, he himself would go to
Captain Foster and show him the Baron's protection, and obtain his
countenance for harbouring him that night, and he would have
horses ready on the morrow to set him on his way to the Duchran
along with Mr. Stanley, 'whilk denomination, I apprehend, your
honour will for the present retain,' said the Bailie.

'Certainly, Mr. Macwheeble; but will you not go down to the glen
yourself in the evening to meet your patron?'

'That I wad wi' a' my heart; and mickle obliged to your honour for
putting me in mind o' mybounden duty. But it will be past sunset
afore I get back frae the Captain's, and at these unsonsy hours
the glen has a bad name; there's something no that canny about
auld Janet Gellatley. The Laird he'll no believe thae things, but
he was aye ower rash and venturesome, and feared neither man nor
deevil, an sae's seen o't. But right sure am I Sir George
Mackenyie says, that no divine can doubt there are witches, since
the Bible says thou shalt not suffer them to live; and that no
lawyer in Scotland can doubt it, since it is punishable with death
by our law. So there's baith law and gospel for it. An his honour
winna believe the Leviticus, he might aye believe the Statute-
book; but he may tak his ain way o't; it's a' ane to Duncan
Macwheeble. However, I shall send to ask up auld Janet this e'en;
it's best no to lightly them that have that character; and we'll
want Davie to turn the spit, for I'll gar Eppie put down a fat
goose to the fire for your honours to your supper.'

When it was near sunset Waverley hastened to the hut; and he could
not but allow that superstition had chosen no improper locality,
or unfit object, for the foundation of her fantastic terrors. It
resembled exactly the description of Spenser:--

    There, in a gloomy hollow glen, she found
    A little cottage built of sticks and reeds,
    In homely wise, and wall'd with sods around,
    In which a witch did dwell in loathly weeds,
    And wilful want, all careless of her needs,
    So choosing solitary to abide
    Far from all neighbours, that her devilish deeds,
    And hellish arts, from people she might hide,
    And hurt far off, unknown, whomsoever she espied.

He entered the cottage with these verses in his memory. Poor old
Janet, bent double with age and bleared with peat-smoke, was
tottering about the hut with a birch broom, muttering to herself
as she endeavoured to make her hearth and floor a little clean for
the reception of her expected guests. Waverley's step made her
start, look up, and fall a-trembling, so much had her nerves been
on the rack for her patron's safety. With difficulty Waverley made
her comprehend that the Baron was now safe from personal danger;
and when her mind had admitted that joyful news, it was equally
hard to make her believe that he was not to enter again upon
possession of his estate. 'It behoved to be,' she said, 'he wad
get it back again; naebody wad be sae gripple as to tak his gear
after they had gi'en him a pardon: and for that Inch-Grabbit, I
could whiles wish mysell a witch for his sake, if I werena feared
the Enemy wad tak me at my word.' Waverley then gave her some
money, and promised that her fidelity should be rewarded. 'How can
I be rewarded, sir, sae weel as just to see my auld maister and
Miss Rose come back and bruik their ain?'

Waverley now took leave of Janet, and soon stood beneath the
Baron's Patmos. At a low whistle he observed the veteran peeping
out to reconnoitre, like an old badger with his head out of his
hole. 'Ye hae come rather early, my good lad,' said he,
descending; 'I question if the red-coats hae beat the tattoo yet,
and we're not safe till then.'

'Good news cannot be told too soon,' said Waverley; and with
infinite joy communicated to him the happy tidings. The old man
stood for a moment in silent devotion, then exclaimed, 'Praise be
to God! I shall see my bairn again.'

'And never, I hope, to part with her more,' said Waverley.

'I trust in God not, unless it be to win the means of supporting
her; for my things are but in a bruckle state;--but what signifies
warld's gear?'

'And if,' said Waverley modestly, 'there were a situation in life
which would put Miss Bradwardine beyond the uncertainty of
fortune, and in the rank to which she was born, would you object
to it, my dear Baron, because it would make one of your friends
the happiest man in the world?' The Baron turned and looked at him
with great earnestness. 'Yes,' continued Edward, 'I shall not
consider my sentence of banishment as repealed unless you will
give me permission to accompany you to the Duchran, and--'

The Baron seemed collecting all his dignity to make a suitable
reply to what, at another time, he would have treated as the
propounding a treaty of alliance between the houses of Bradwardine
and Waverley. But his efforts were in vain; the father was too
mighty for the Baron; the pride of birth and rank were swept away;
in the joyful surprise a slight convulsion passed rapidly over his
features, as he gave way to the feelings of nature, threw his arms
around Waverley's neck, and sobbed out--'My son, my son! if I had
been to search the world, I would have made my choice here.'
Edward returned the embrace with great sympathy of feeling, and
for a little while they both kept silence. At length it was broken
by Edward. 'But Miss Bradwardine?'

'She had never a will but her old father's; besides, you are a
likely youth, of honest principles and high birth; no, she never
had any other will than mine, and in my proudest days I could not
have wished a mair eligible espousal for her than the nephew of my
excellent old friend, Sir Everard. But I hope, young man, ye deal
na rashly in this matter? I hope ye hae secured the approbation of
your ain friends and allies, particularly of your uncle, who is in
loco parentis? Ah! we maun tak heed o' that.' Edward assured him
that Sir Everard would think himself highly honoured in the
flattering reception his proposal had met with, and that it had
his entire approbation; in evidence of which he put Colonel
Talbot's letter into the Baron's hand. The Baron read it with
great attention. 'Sir Everard,' he said, 'always despised wealth
in comparison of honour and birth; and indeed he hath no occasion
to court the Diva Pecunia. Yet I now wish, since this Malcolm
turns out such a parricide, for I can call him no better, as to
think of alienating the family inheritance--I now wish (his eyes
fixed on a part of the roof which was visible above the trees)
that I could have left Rose the auld hurley-house and the riggs
belanging to it. And yet,' said he, resuming more cheerfully,
'it's maybe as weel as it is; for, as Baron of Bradwardine, I
might have thought it my duty to insist upon certain compliances
respecting name and bearings, whilk now, as a landless laird wi' a
tocherless daughter, no one can blame me for departing from.'

'Now, Heaven be praised!' thought Edward,'that Sir Everard does
not hear these scruples! The three ermines passant and rampant
bear would certainly have gone together by the ears.' He then,
with all the ardour of a young lover, assured the Baron that he
sought for his happiness only in Rose's heart and hand, and
thought himself as happy in her father's simple approbation as if
he had settled an earldom upon his daughter.

They now reached Little Veolan. The goose was smoking on the
table, and the Bailie brandished his knife and fork. A joyous
greeting took place between him and his patron. The kitchen, too,
had its company. Auld Janet was established at the ingle-nook;
Davie had turned the spit to his immortal honour; and even Ban and
Buscar, in the liberality of Macwheeble's joy, had been stuffed to
the throat with food, and now lay snoring on the floor.

The next day conducted the Baron and his young friend to the
Duchran, where the former was expected, in consequence of the
success of the nearly unanimous application of the Scottish
friends of government in his favour. This had been so general and
so powerful that it was almost thought his estate might have been
saved, had it not passed into the rapacious hands of his unworthy
kinsman, whose right, arising out of the Baron's attainder, could
not be affected by a pardon from the crown. The old gentleman,
however, said, with his usual spirit, he was more gratified by the
hold he possessed in the good opinion of his neighbours than he
would have been in being rehabilitated and restored in integrum,
had it been found practicable.'

We shall not attempt to describe the meeting of the father and
daughter, loving each other so affectionately, and separated under
such perilous circumstances. Still less shall we attempt to
analyse the deep blush of Rose at receiving the compliments of
Waverley, or stop to inquire whether she had any curiosity
respecting the particular cause of his journey to Scotland at that
period. We shall not even trouble the reader with the humdrum
details of a courtship Sixty Years Since. It is enough to say
that, under so strict a martinet as the Baron, all things were
conducted in due form. He took upon himself, the morning after
their arrival, the task of announcing the proposal of Waverley to
Rose, which she heard with a proper degree of maiden timidity.
Fame does, however, say that Waverley had the evening before found
five minutes to apprise her of what was coming, while the rest of
the company were looking at three twisted serpents which formed a,
jet d'eau in the garden.

My fair readers will judge for themselves; but, for my part, I
cannot conceive how so important an affair could be communicated
in so short a space of time; at least, it certainly took a full
hour in the Baron's mode of conveying it.

Waverley was now considered as a received lover in all the forms.
He was made, by dint of smirking and nodding on the part of the
lady of the house, to sit next Miss Bradwardine at dinner, to be
Miss Bradwardine's partner at cards. If he came into the room, she
of the four Miss Rubricks who chanced to be next Rose was sure to
recollect that her thimble or her scissors were at the other end
of the room, in order to leave the seat nearest to Miss
Bradwardine vacant for his occupation. And sometimes, if papa and
mamma were not in the way to keep them on their good behaviour,
the misses would titter a little. The old Laird of Duchran would
also have his occasional jest, and the old lady her remark. Even
the Baron could not refrain; but here Rose escaped every
embarrassment but that of conjecture, for his wit was usually
couched in a Latin quotation. The very footmen sometimes grinned
too broadly, the maidservants giggled mayhap too loud, and a
provoking air of intelligence seemed to pervade the whole family.
Alice Bean, the pretty maid of the cavern, who, after her father's
misfortune, as she called it, had attended Rose as fille-de-
chambre, smiled and smirked with the best of them. Rose and
Edward, however, endured all these little vexatious circumstances
as other folks have done before and since, and probably contrived
to obtain some indemnification, since they are not supposed, on
the whole, to have been particularly unhappy during Waverley's six
days' stay at the Duchran.

It was finally arranged that Edward should go to Waverley-Honour
to make the necessary arrangements for his marriage, thence to
London to take the proper measures for pleading his pardon, and
return as soon as possible to claim the hand of his plighted
bride. He also intended in his journey to visit Colonel Talbot;
but, above all, it was his most important object to learn the fate
of the unfortunate Chief of Glennaquoich; to visit him at
Carlisle, and to try whether anything could be done for procuring,
if not a pardon, a commutation at least, or alleviation, of the
punishment to which he was almost certain of being condemned; and,
in case of the worst, to offer the miserable Flora an asylum with
Rose, or otherwise to assist her views in any mode which might
seem possible. The fate of Fergus seemed hard to be averted.
Edward had already striven to interest his friend, Colonel Talbot,
in his behalf; but had been given distinctly to understand by his
reply that his credit in matters of that nature was totally
exhausted.

The Colonel was still in Edinburgh, and proposed to wait there for
some months upon business confided to him by the Duke of
Cumberland. He was to be joined by Lady Emily, to whom easy
travelling and goat's whey were recommended, and who was to
journey northward under the escort of Francis Stanley. Edward,
therefore, met the Colonel at Edinburgh, who wished him joy in the
kindest manner on his approaching happiness, and cheerfully
undertook many commissions which our hero was necessarily obliged
to delegate to his charge. But on the subject of Fergus he was
inexorable. He satisfied Edward, indeed, that his interference
would be unavailing; but, besides, Colonel Talbot owned that he
could not conscientiously use any influence in favour of that
unfortunate gentleman. 'Justice,' he said, 'which demanded some
penalty of those who had wrapped the whole nation in fear and in
mourning, could not perhaps have selected a fitter victim. He came
to the field with the fullest light upon the nature of his
attempt. He had studied and understood the subject. His father's
fate could not intimidate him; the lenity of the laws which had
restored to him his father's property and rights could not melt
him. That he was brave, generous, and possessed many good
qualities only rendered him the more dangerous; that he was
enlightened and accomplished made his crime the less excusable;
that he was an enthusiast in a wrong cause only made him the more
fit to be its martyr. Above all, he had been the means of bringing
many hundreds of men into the field who, without him, would never
have broken the peace of the country.

'I repeat it,' said the Colonel,'though Heaven knows with a heart
distressed for him as an individual, that this young gentleman has
studied and fully understood the desperate game which he has
played. He threw for life or death, a coronet or a coffin; and he
cannot now be permitted, with justice to the country, to draw
stakes because the dice have gone against him.'

Such was the reasoning of those times, held even by brave and
humane men towards a vanquished enemy. Let us devoutly hope that,
in this respect at least, we shall never see the scenes or hold
the sentiments that were general in Britain Sixty Years Since.





CHAPTER LXVIII

    To morrow? O that's sudden!--Spare him, spare him'

    SHAKSPEARE


Edward, attended by his former servant Alick Polwarth, who had
reentered his service at Edinburgh, reached Carlisle while the
commission of Oyer and Terminer on his unfortunate associates was
yet sitting. He had pushed forward in haste, not, alas! with the
most distant hope of saving Fergus, but to see him for the last
time. I ought to have mentioned that he had furnished funds for
the defence of the prisoners in the most liberal manner, as soon
as he heard that the day of trial was fixed. A solicitor and the
first counsel accordingly attended; but it was upon the same
footing on which the first physicians are usually summoned to the
bedside of some dying man of rank--the doctors to take the
advantage of some incalculable chance of an exertion of nature,
the lawyers to avail themselves of the barely possible occurrence
of some legal flaw. Edward pressed into the court, which was
extremely crowded; but by his arriving from the north, and his
extreme eagerness and agitation, it was supposed he was a relation
of the prisoners, and people made way for him. It was the third
sitting of the court, and there were two men at the bar. The
verdict of GUILTY was already pronounced. Edward just glanced at
the bar during the momentous pause which ensued. There was no
mistaking the stately form and noble features of Fergus Mac-Ivor,
although his dress was squalid and his countenance tinged with the
sickly yellow hue of long and close imprisonment. By his side was
Evan Maccombich. Edward felt sick and dizzy as he gazed on them;
but he was recalled to himself as the Clerk of Arraigns pronounced
the solemn words: 'Fergus Mac-Ivor of Glennaquoich, otherwise
called Vich Ian Vohr, and Evan Mac-Ivor, in the Dhu of
Tarrascleugh, otherwise called Evan Dhu, otherwise called Evan
Maccombich, or Evan Dhu MacCombich--you, and each of you, stand
attainted of high treason. What have you to say for yourselves why
the Court should not pronounce judgment against you, that you die
according to law?'

Fergus, as the presiding Judge was putting on the fatal cap of
judgment, placed his own bonnet upon his head, regarded him with a
steadfast and stern look, and replied in a firm voice, 'I cannot
let this numerous audience suppose that to such an appeal I have
no answer to make. But what I have to say you would not bear to
hear, for my defence would be your condemnation. Proceed, then, in
the name of God, to do what is permitted to you. Yesterday and the
day before you have condemned loyal and honourable blood to be
poured forth like water. Spare not mine. Were that of all my
ancestors in my veins, I would have perilled it in this quarrel.'
He resumed his seat and refused again to rise.

Evan Maccombich looked at him with great earnestness, and, rising
up, seemed anxious to speak; but the confusion of the court, and
the perplexity arising from thinking in a language different from
that in which he was to express himself, kept him silent. There
was a murmur of compassion among the spectators, from the idea
that the poor fellow intended to plead the influence of his
superior as an excuse for his crime. The Judge commanded silence,
and encouraged Evan to proceed. 'I was only ganging to say, my
lord,' said Evan, in what he meant to be an insinuating manner,
'that if your excellent honour and the honourable Court would let
Vich Ian Vohr go free just this once, and let him gae back to
France, and no to trouble King George's government again, that ony
six o' the very best of his clan will be willing to be justified
in his stead; and if you'll just let me gae down to Glennaquoich,
I'll fetch them up to ye mysell, to head or hang, and you may
begin wi' me the very first man.'

Notwithstanding the solemnity of the occasion, a sort of laugh was
heard in the court at the extraordinary nature of the proposal.
The Judge checked this indecency, and Evan, looking sternly
around, when the murmur abated, 'If the Saxon gentlemen are
laughing,' he said, 'because a poor man, such as me, thinks my
life, or the life of six of my degree, is worth that of Vich Ian
Vohr, it's like enough they may be very right; but if they laugh
because they think I would not keep my word and come back to
redeem him, I can tell them they ken neither the heart of a
Hielandman nor the honour of a gentleman.'

There was no farther inclination to laugh among the audience, and
a dead silence ensued.

The Judge then pronounced upon both prisoners the sentence of the
law of high treason, with all its horrible accompaniments. The
execution was appointed for the ensuing day. 'For you, Fergus Mac-
Ivor,' continued the Judge, 'I can hold out no hope of mercy. You
must prepare against to-morrow for your last sufferings here, and
your great audit hereafter.'

'I desire nothing else, my lord,' answered Fergus, in the same
manly and firm tone.

The hard eyes of Evan, which had been perpetually bent on his
Chief, were moistened with a tear. 'For you, poor ignorant man,'
continued the Judge, 'who, following the ideas in which you have
been educated, have this day given us a striking example how the
loyalty due to the king and state alone is, from your unhappy
ideas of clanship, transferred to some ambitious individual who
ends by making you the tool of his crimes--for you, I say, I feel
so much compassion that, if you can make up your mind to petition
for grace, I will endeavour to procure it for you. Otherwise--'

'Grace me no grace,' said Evan; 'since you are to shed Vich Ian
Vohr's blood, the only favour I would accept from you is to bid
them loose my hands and gie me my claymore, and bide you just a
minute sitting where you are!'

'Remove the prisoners,' said the Judge; 'his blood be upon his own
head.'

Almost stupefied with his feelings, Edward found that the rush of
the crowd had conveyed him out into the street ere he knew what he
was doing. His immediate wish was to see and speak with Fergus
once more. He applied at the Castle where his unfortunate friend
was confined, but was refused admittance. 'The High Sheriff,' a
non-commissioned officer said, 'had requested of the governor that
none should be admitted to see the prisoner excepting his
confessor and his sister.'

'And where was Miss Mac-Ivor?' They gave him the direction. It was
the house of a respectable Catholic family near Carlisle.

Repulsed from the gate of the Castle, and not venturing to make
application to the High Sheriff or Judges in his own unpopular
name, he had recourse to the solicitor who came down in Fergus's
behalf. This gentleman told him that it was thought the public
mind was in danger of being debauched by the account of the last
moments of these persons, as given by the friends of the
Pretender; that there had been a resolution, therefore, to exclude
all such persons as had not the plea of near kindred for attending
upon them. Yet he promised (to oblige the heir of Waverley-Honour)
to get him an order for admittance to the prisoner the next
morning, before his irons were knocked off for execution.

'Is it of Fergus Mac-Ivor they speak thus,' thought Waverley, 'or
do I dream? Of Fergus, the bold, the chivalrous, the free-minded,
the lofty chieftain of a tribe devoted to him? Is it he, that I
have seen lead the chase and head the attack, the brave, the
active, the young, the noble, the love of ladies, and the theme of
song,--is it he who is ironed like a malefactor, who is to be
dragged on a hurdle to the common gallows, to die a lingering and
cruel death, and to be mangled by the hand of the most outcast of
wretches? Evil indeed was the spectre that boded such a fate as
this to the brave Chief of Glennaquoich!'

With a faltering voice he requested the solicitor to find means to
warn Fergus of his intended visit, should he obtain permission to
make it. He then turned away from him, and, returning to the inn,
wrote a scarcely intelligible note to Flora Mac-Ivor, intimating
his purpose to wait upon her that evening. The messenger brought
back a letter in Flora's beautiful Italian hand, which seemed
scarce to tremble even under this load of misery. 'Miss Flora Mac-
Ivor,' the letter bore, 'could not refuse to see the dearest
friend of her dear brother, even in her present circumstances of
unparalleled distress.'

When Edward reached Miss Mac-Ivor's present place of abode he was
instantly admitted. In a large and gloomy tapestried apartment
Flora was seated by a latticed window, sewing what seemed to be a
garment of white flannel. At a little distance sat an elderly
woman, apparently a foreigner, and of a religious order. She was
reading in a book of Catholic devotion, but when Waverley entered
laid it on the table and left the room. Flora rose to receive him,
and stretched out her hand, but neither ventured to attempt
speech. Her fine complexion was totally gone; her person
considerably emaciated; and her face and hands as white as the
purest statuary marble, forming a strong contrast with her sable
dress and jet-black hair. Yet, amid these marks of distress there
was nothing negligent or ill-arranged about her attire; even her
hair, though totally without ornament, was disposed with her usual
attention to neatness. The first words she uttered were, 'Have you
seen him?'

'Alas, no,' answered Waverley, 'I have been refused admittance.'

'It accords with the rest,' she said; 'but we must submit. Shall
you obtain leave, do you suppose?'

'For--for--tomorrow,' said Waverley; but muttering the last word
so faintly that it was almost unintelligible.

'Ay, then or never,' said Flora, 'until'--she added, looking
upward--'the time when, I trust, we shall all meet. But I hope you
will see him while earth yet bears him. He always loved you at his
heart, though--but it is vain to talk of the past.'

'Vain indeed!' echoed Waverley.

'Or even of the future, my good friend,' said Flora,'so far as
earthly events are concerned; for how often have I pictured to
myself the strong possibility of this horrid issue, and tasked
myself to consider how I could support my part; and yet how far
has all my anticipation fallen short of the unimaginable
bitterness of this hour!'

'Dear Flora, if your strength of mind--'

'Ay, there it is,' she answered, somewhat wildly; 'there is, Mr.
Waverley, there is a busy devil at my heart that whispers--but it
were madness to listen to it--that the strength of mind on which
Flora prided herself has murdered her brother!'

'Good God! how can you give utterance to a thought so shocking?'

'Ay, is it not so? but yet it haunts me like a phantom; I know it
is unsubstantial and vain; but it will be present; will intrude
its horrors on my mind; will whisper that my brother, as volatile
as ardent, would have divided his energies amid a hundred objects.
It was I who taught him to concentrate them and to gage all on
this dreadful and desperate cast. Oh that I could recollect that I
had but once said to him, "He that striketh with the sword shall
die by the sword"; that I had but once said, "Remain at home;
reserve yourself, your vassals, your life, for enterprises within
the reach of man." But O, Mr. Waverley, I spurred his fiery
temper, and half of his ruin at least lies with his sister!'

The horrid idea which she had intimated, Edward endeavoured to
combat by every incoherent argument that occurred to him. He
recalled to her the principles on which both thought it their duty
to act, and in which they had been educated.

'Do not think I have forgotten them,' she said, looking up with
eager quickness; 'I do not regret his attempt because it was
wrong!--O no! on that point I am armed--but because it was
impossible it could end otherwise than thus.'

'Yet it did not always seem so desperate and hazardous as it was;
and it would have been chosen by the bold spirit of Fergus whether
you had approved it or no; your counsels only served to give unity
and consistence to his conduct; to dignify, but not to
precipitate, his resolution.' Flora had soon ceased to listen to
Edward, and was again intent upon her needlework.

'Do you remember,' she said, looking up with a ghastly smile, 'you
once found me making Fergus's bride-favours, and now I am sewing
his bridal garment. Our friends here,' she continued, with
suppressed emotion, 'are to give hallowed earth in their chapel to
the bloody relics of the last Vich Ian Vohr. But they will not all
rest together; no--his head!--I shall not have the last miserable
consolation of kissing the cold lips of my dear, dear Fergus!'

The unfortunate Flora here, after one or two hysterical sobs,
fainted in her chair. The lady, who had been attending in the
ante-room, now entered hastily, and begged Edward to leave the
room, but not the house.

When he was recalled, after the space of nearly half an hour, he
found that, by a strong effort, Miss Mac-Ivor had greatly composed
herself. It was then he ventured to urge Miss Bradwardine's claim
to be considered as an adopted sister, and empowered to assist her
plans for the future.

'I have had a letter from my dear Rose,' she replied, 'to the same
purpose. Sorrow is selfish and engrossing, or I would have written
to express that, even in my own despair, I felt a gleam of
pleasure at learning her happy prospects, and at hearing that the
good old Baron has escaped the general wreck. Give this to my
dearest Rose; it is her poor Flora's only ornament of value, and
was the gift of a princess.' She put into his hands a case
containing the chain of diamonds with which she used to decorate
her hair. 'To me it is in future useless. The kindness of my
friends has secured me a retreat in the convent of the Scottish
Benedictine nuns in Paris. Tomorrow--if indeed I can survive
tomorrow--I set forward on my journey with this venerable sister.
And now, Mr. Waverley, adieu! May you be as happy with Rose as
your amiable dispositions deserve; and think sometimes on the
friends you have lost. Do not attempt to see me again; it would be
mistaken kindness.'

She gave him her hand, on which Edward shed a torrent of tears,
and with a faltering step withdrew from the apartment, and
returned to the town of Carlisle. At the inn he found a letter
from his law friend intimating that he would be admitted to Fergus
next morning as soon as the Castle gates were opened, and
permitted to remain with him till the arrival of the Sheriff gave
signal for the fatal procession.





CHAPTER LXIX

    A darker departure is near,
    The death drum is muffled, and sable the bier

    CAMPBELL


After a sleepless night, the first dawn of morning found Waverley
on the esplanade in front of the old Gothic gate of Carlisle
Castle. But he paced it long in every direction before the hour
when, according to the rules of the garrison, the gates were
opened and the draw-bridge lowered. He produced his order to the
sergeant of the guard and was admitted.

The place of Fergus's confinement was a gloomy and vaulted
apartment in the central part of the Castle; a huge old tower,
supposed to be of great antiquity, and surrounded by outworks,
seemingly of Henry VIII's time, or somewhat later. The grating of
the large old-fashioned bars and bolts, withdrawn for the purpose
of admitting Edward, was answered by the clash of chains, as the
unfortunate Chieftain, strongly and heavily fettered, shuffled
along the stone floor of his prison to fling himself into his
friend's arms.

'My dear Edward,' he said, in a firm and even cheerful voice,'this
is truly kind. I heard of your approaching happiness with the
highest pleasure. And how does Rose? and how is our old whimsical
friend the Baron? Well, I trust, since I see you at freedom. And
how will you settle precedence between the three ermines passant
and the bear and boot-jack?'

'How, O how, my dear Fergus, can you talk of such things at such a
moment!'

'Why, we have entered Carlisle with happier auspices, to be sure;
on the 16th of November last, for example, when we marched in side
by side, and hoisted the white flag on these ancient towers. But I
am no boy, to sit down and weep because the luck has gone against
me. I knew the stake which I risked; we played the game boldly and
the forfeit shall be paid manfully. And now, since my time is
short, let me come to the questions that interest me most--the
Prince? has he escaped the bloodhounds?'

'He has, and is in safety.'

'Praised be God for that! Tell me the particulars of his escape.'

Waverley communicated that remarkable history, so far as it had
then transpired, to which Fergus listened with deep interest. He
then asked after several other friends; and made many minute
inquiries concerning the fate of his own clansmen. They had
suffered less than other tribes who had been engaged in the
affair; for, having in a great measure dispersed and returned home
after the captivity of their Chieftain, according to the universal
custom of the Highlanders, they were not in arms when the
insurrection was finally suppressed, and consequently were treated
with less rigour. This Fergus heard with great satisfaction.

'You are rich,' he said, 'Waverley, and you are generous. When you
hear of these poor Mac-Ivors being distressed about their
miserable possessions by some harsh overseer or agent of
government, remember you have worn their tartan and are an adopted
son of their race, The Baron, who knows our manners and lives near
our country, will apprise you of the time and means to be their
protector. Will you promise this to the last Vich Ian Vohr?'

Edward, as may well be believed, pledged his word; which he
afterwards so amply redeemed that his memory still lives in these
glens by the name of the Friend of the Sons of Ivor.

'Would to God,' continued the Chieftain, 'I could bequeath to you
my rights to the love and obedience of this primitive and brave
race; or at least, as I have striven to do, persuade poor Evan to
accept of his life upon their terms, and be to you what he has
been to me, the kindest, the bravest, the most devoted--'

The tears which his own fate could not draw forth fell fast for
that of his foster-brother.

'But,' said he, drying them,'that cannot be. You cannot be to them
Vich Ian Vohr; and these three magic words,' said he, half
smiling, 'are the only Open Sesame to their feelings and
sympathies, and poor Evan must attend his foster-brother in death,
as he has done through his whole life.'

'And I am sure,' said Maccombich, raising himself from the floor,
on which, for fear of interrupting their conversation, he had lain
so still that, in the obscurity of the apartment, Edward was not
aware of his presence--'I am sure Evan never desired or deserved a
better end than just to die with his Chieftain.'

'And now,' said Fergus, 'while we are upon the subject of
clanship--what think you now of the prediction of the Bodach
Glas?' Then, before Edward could answer, 'I saw him again last
night: he stood in the slip of moonshine which fell from that high
and narrow window towards my bed. "Why should I fear him?" I
thought; "to-morrow, long ere this time, I shall be as immaterial
as he." "False spirit," I said, "art thou come to close thy walks
on earth and to enjoy thy triumph in the fall of the last
descendant of thine enemy?" The spectre seemed to beckon and to
smile as he faded from my sight. What do you think of it? I asked
the same question of the priest, who is a good and sensible man;
he admitted that the church allowed that such apparitions were
possible, but urged me not to permit my mind to dwell upon it, as
imagination plays us such strange tricks. What do you think of
it?'

'Much as your confessor,' said Waverley, willing to avoid dispute
upon such a point at such a moment. A tap at the door now
announced that good man, and Edward retired while he administered
to both prisoners the last rites of religion, in the mode which
the Church of Rome prescribes.

In about an hour he was re-admitted; soon after, a file of
soldiers entered with a blacksmith, who struck the fetters from
the legs of the prisoners.

'You see the compliment they pay to our Highland strength and
courage; we have lain chained here like wild beasts, till our legs
are cramped into palsy, and when they free us they send six
soldiers with loaded muskets to prevent our taking the castle by
storm!'

Edward afterwards learned that these severe precautions had been
taken in consequence of a desperate attempt of the prisoners to
escape, in which they had very nearly succeeded.

Shortly afterwards the drums of the garrison beat to arms. 'This
is the last turn-out,' said Fergus, 'that I shall hear and obey.
And now, my dear, dear Edward, ere we part let us speak of Flora--
a subject which awakes the tenderest feeling that yet thrills
within me'

'We part not here!' said Waverley.

'O yes, we do; you must come no farther. Not that I fear what is
to follow for myself,' he said proudly. 'Nature has her tortures
as well as art, and how happy should we think the man who escapes
from the throes of a mortal and painful disorder in the space of a
short half hour? And this matter, spin it out as they will, cannot
last longer. But what a dying man can suffer firmly may kill a
living friend to look upon. This same law of high treason,' he
continued, with astonishing firmness and composure, 'is one of the
blessings, Edward, with which your free country has accommodated
poor old Scotland; her own jurisprudence, as I have heard, was
much milder. But I suppose one day or other--when there are no
longer any wild Highlanders to benefit by its tender mercies--they
will blot it from their records as levelling them with a nation of
cannibals. The mummery, too, of exposing the senseless head--they
have not the wit to grace mine with a paper coronet; there would
be some satire in that, Edward. I hope they will set it on the
Scotch gate though, that I may look, even after death, to the blue
hills of my own country, which I love so dearly. The Baron would
have added,

    Moritur, et moriens dukes reminiscitur Argos.'

A bustle, and the sound of wheels and horses' feet, was now heard
in the court-yard of the Castle. 'As I have told you why you must
not follow me, and these sounds admonish me that my time flies
fast, tell me how you found poor Flora.'

Waverley, with a voice interrupted by suffocating sensations, gave
some account of the state of her mind.

'Poor Flora!' answered the Chief, 'she could have borne her own
sentence of death, but not mine. You, Waverley, will soon know the
happiness of mutual affection in the married state--long, long may
Rose and you enjoy it!--but you can never know the purity of
feeling which combines two orphans like Flora and me, left alone
as it were in the world, and being all in all to each other from
our very infancy. But her strong sense of duty and predominant
feeling of loyalty will give new nerve to her mind after the
immediate and acute sensation of this parting has passed away. She
will then think of Fergus as of the heroes of our race, upon whose
deeds she loved to dwell.'

'Shall she not see you then?' asked Waverley. 'She seemed to
expect it.'

'A necessary deceit will spare her the last dreadful parting. I
could not part with her without tears, and I cannot bear that
these men should think they have power to extort them. She was
made to believe she would see me at a later hour, and this letter,
which my confessor will deliver, will apprise her that all is
over.'

An officer now appeared and intimated that the High Sheriff and
his attendants waited before the gate of the Castle to claim the
bodies of Fergus Mac-Ivor and Evan Maccombich. 'I come,' said
Fergus. Accordingly, supporting Edward by the arm and followed by
Evan Dhu and the priest, he moved down the stairs of the tower,
the soldiers bringing up the rear. The court was occupied by a
squadron of dragoons and a battalion of infantry, drawn up in
hollow square. Within their ranks was the sledge or hurdle on
which the prisoners were to be drawn to the place of execution,
about a mile distant from Carlisle. It was painted black, and
drawn by a white horse. At one end of the vehicle sat the
executioner, a horrid-looking fellow, as beseemed his trade, with
the broad axe in his hand; at the other end, next the horse, was
an empty seat for two persons. Through the deep and dark Gothic
archway that opened on the drawbridge were seen on horseback the
High Sheriff and his attendants, whom the etiquette betwixt the
civil and military powers did not permit to come farther. 'This is
well GOT UP for a closing scene,' said Fergus, smiling
disdainfully as he gazed around upon the apparatus of terror. Evan
Dhu exclaimed with some eagerness, after looking at the dragoons,'
These are the very chields that galloped off at Gladsmuir, before
we could kill a dozen o' them. They look bold enough now,
however.' The priest entreated him to be silent.

The sledge now approached, and Fergus, turning round, embraced
Waverley, kissed him on each side of the face, and stepped nimbly
into his place. Evan sat down by his side. The priest was to
follow in a carriage belonging to his patron, the Catholic
gentleman at whose house Flora resided. As Fergus waved his hand
to Edward the ranks closed around the sledge, and the whole
procession began to move forward. There was a momentary stop at
the gateway, while the governor of the Castle and the High Sheriff
went through a short ceremony, the military officer there
delivering over the persons of the criminals to the civil power.
'God save King George!' said the High Sheriff. When the formality
concluded, Fergus stood erect in the sledge, and, with a firm and
steady voice, replied,' God save King JAMES!' These were the last
words which Waverley heard him speak.

The procession resumed its march, and the sledge vanished from
beneath the portal, under which it had stopped for an instant. The
dead march was then heard, and its melancholy sounds were mingled
with those of a muffled peal tolled from the neighbouring
cathedral. The sound of military music died away as the procession
moved on; the sullen clang of the bells was soon heard to sound
alone.

The last of the soldiers had now disappeared from under the
vaulted archway through which they had been filing for several
minutes; the court-yard was now totally empty, but Waverley still
stood there as if stupefied, his eyes fixed upon the dark pass
where he had so lately seen the last glimpse of his friend. At
length a female servant of the governor's, struck with compassion,
at the stupefied misery which his countenance expressed, asked him
if he would not walk into her master's house and sit down? She was
obliged to repeat her question twice ere he comprehended her, but
at length it recalled him to himself. Declining the courtesy by a
hasty gesture, he pulled his hat over his eyes, and, leaving the
Castle, walked as swiftly as he could through the empty streets
till he regained his inn, then rushed into an apartment and bolted
the door.

In about an hour and a half, which seemed an age of unutterable
suspense, the sound of the drums and fifes performing a lively
air, and the confused murmur of the crowd which now filled the
streets, so lately deserted, apprised him that all was finished,
and that the military and populace were returning from the
dreadful scene. I will not attempt to describe his sensations.

In the evening the priest made him a visit, and informed him that
he did so by directions of his deceased friend, to assure him that
Fergus Mac-Ivor had died as he lived, and remembered his
friendship to the last. He added, he had also seen Flora, whose
state of mind seemed more composed since all was over. With her
and sister Theresa the priest proposed next day to leave Carlisle
for the nearest seaport from which they could embark for France.
Waverley forced on this good man a ring of some value and a sum of
money to be employed (as he thought might gratify Flora) in the
services of the Catholic church for the memory of his friend.
'Fun-garque inani munere,' he repeated, as the ecclesiastic
retired. 'Yet why not class these acts of remembrance with other
honours, with which affection in all sects pursues the memory of
the dead?'

The next morning ere daylight he took leave of the town of
Carlisle, promising to himself never again to enter its walls. He
dared hardly look back towards the Gothic battlements of the
fortified gate under which he passed, for the place is surrounded
with an old wall. 'They're no there,' said Alick Polwarth, who
guessed the cause of the dubious look which Waverley cast
backward, and who, with the vulgar appetite for the horrible, was
master of each detail of the butchery--'the heads are ower the
Scotch yate, as they ca' it. It's a great pity of Evan Dhu, who
was a very weel-meaning, good-natured man, to be a Hielandman;
and indeed so was the Laird o' Glennaquoich too, for that matter,
when he wasna in ane o' his tirrivies.'





CHAPTER LXX

DULCE DOMUM


The impression of horror with which Waverley left Carlisle
softened by degrees into melancholy, a gradation which was
accelerated by the painful yet soothing task of writing to Rose;
and, while he could not suppress his own feelings of the calamity,
he endeavoured to place it in a light which might grieve her
without shocking her imagination. The picture which he drew for
her benefit he gradually familiarised to his own mind, and his
next letters were more cheerful, and referred to the prospects of
peace and happiness which lay before them. Yet, though his first
horrible sensations had sunk into melancholy, Edward had reached
his native country before he could, as usual on former occasions,
look round for enjoyment upon the face of nature.

He then, for the first time since leaving Edinburgh, began to
experience that pleasure which almost all feel who return to a
verdant, populous, and highly cultivated country from scenes of
waste desolation or of solitary and melancholy grandeur. But how
were those feelings enhanced when he entered on the domain so long
possessed by his forefathers; recognised the old oaks of Waverley-
Chace; thought with what delight he should introduce Rose to all
his favourite haunts; beheld at length the towers of the venerable
hall arise above the woods which embowered it, and finally threw
himself into the arms of the venerable relations to whom he owed
so much duty and affection!

The happiness of their meeting was not tarnished by a single word
of reproach. On the contrary, whatever pain Sir Everard and Mrs.
Rachel had felt during Waverley's perilous engagement with the
young Chevalier, it assorted too well with the principles in which
they had been brought up to incur reprobation, or even censure.
Colonel Talbot also had smoothed the way with great address for
Edward's favourable reception by dwelling upon his gallant
behaviour in the military character, particularly his bravery and
generosity at Preston; until, warmed at the idea of their nephew's
engaging in single combat, making prisoner, and saving from
slaughter so distinguished an officer as the Colonel himself, the
imagination of the Baronet and his sister ranked the exploits of
Edward with those of Wilibert, Hildebrand, and Nigel, the vaunted
heroes of their line.

The appearance of Waverley, embrowned by exercise and dignified by
the habits of military discipline, had acquired an athletic and
hardy character, which not only verified the Colonel's narration,
but surprised and delighted all the inhabitants of Waverley-
Honour. They crowded to see, to hear him, and to sing his praises.
Mr. Pembroke, who secretly extolled his spirit and courage in
embracing the genuine cause of the Church of England, censured his
pupil gently, nevertheless, for being so careless of his
manuscripts, which indeed, he said, had occasioned him some
personal inconvenience, as, upon the Baronet's being arrested by a
king's messenger, he had deemed it prudent to retire to a
concealment called 'The Priest's Hole,' from the use it had been
put to in former days; where, he assured our hero, the butler had
thought it safe to venture with food only once in the day, so that
he had been repeatedly compelled to dine upon victuals either
absolutely cold or, what was worse, only half warm, not to mention
that sometimes his bed had not been arranged for two days
together. Waverley's mind involuntarily turned to the Patmos of
the Baron of Bradwardine, who was well pleased with Janet's fare
and a few bunches of straw stowed in a cleft in the front of a
sand-cliff; but he made no remarks upon a contrast which could
only mortify his worthy tutor.

All was now in a bustle to prepare for the nuptials of Edward, an
event to which the good old Baronet and Mrs. Rachel looked forward
as if to the renewal of their own youth. The match, as Colonel
Talbot had intimated, had seemed to them in the highest degree
eligible, having every recommendation but wealth, of which they
themselves had more than enough. Mr. Clippurse was therefore
summoned to Waverley-Honour, under better auspices than at the
commencement of our story. But Mr. Clippurse came not alone; for,
being now stricken in years, he had associated with him a nephew,
a younger vulture (as our English Juvenal, who tells the tale of
Swallow the attorney, might have called him), and they now carried
on business as Messrs. Clippurse and Hookem. These worthy
gentlemen had directions to make the necessary settlements on the
most splendid scale of liberality, as if Edward were to wed a
peeress in her own right, with her paternal estate tacked to the
fringe of her ermine.

But before entering upon a subject of proverbial delay, I must
remind my reader of the progress of a stone rolled downhill by an
idle truant boy (a pastime at which I was myself expert in my more
juvenile years), it moves at first slowly, avoiding by inflection
every obstacle of the least importance; but when it has attained
its full impulse, and draws near the conclusion of its career, it
smokes and thunders down, taking a rood at every spring, clearing
hedge and ditch like a Yorkshire huntsman, and becoming most
furiously rapid in its course when it is nearest to being
consigned to rest for ever. Even such is the course of a narrative
like that which you are perusing. The earlier events are
studiously dwelt upon, that you, kind reader, may be introduced to
the character rather by narrative than by the duller medium of
direct description; but when the story draws near its close, we
hurry over the circumstances, however important, which your
imagination must have forestalled, and leave you to suppose those
things which it would be abusing your patience to relate at
length.

We are, therefore, so far from attempting to trace the dull
progress of Messrs. Clippurse and Hookem, or that of their worthy
official brethren who had the charge of suing out the pardons of
Edward Waverley and his intended father-in-law, that we can but
touch upon matters more attractive. The mutual epistles, for
example, which were exchanged between Sir Everard and the Baron
upon this occasion, though matchless specimens of eloquence in
their way, must be consigned to merciless oblivion. Nor can I tell
you at length how worthy Aunt Rachel, not without a delicate and
affectionate allusion to the circumstances which had transferred
Rose's maternal diamonds to the hands of Donald Bean Lean, stocked
her casket with a set of jewels that a duchess might have envied.
Moreover, the reader will have the goodness to imagine that Job
Houghton and his dame were suitably provided for, although they
could never be persuaded that their son fell otherwise than
fighting by the young squire's side; so that Alick, who, as a
lover of truth, had made many needless attempts to expound the
real circumstances to them, was finally ordered to say not a word
more upon the subject. He indemnified himself, however, by the
liberal allowance of desperate battles, grisly executions, and
raw-head and bloody-bone stories with which he astonished the
servants' hall.

But although these important matters may be briefly told in
narrative, like a newspaper report of a Chancery suit, yet, with
all the urgency which Waverley could use, the real time which the
law proceedings occupied, joined to the delay occasioned by the
mode of travelling at that period, rendered it considerably more
than two months ere Waverley, having left England, alighted once
more at the mansion of the Laird of Duchran to claim the hand of
his plighted bride.

The day of his marriage was fixed for the sixth after his arrival.
The Baron of Bradwardine, with whom bridals, christenings, and
funerals were festivals of high and solemn import, felt a little
hurt that, including the family of the Duchran and all the
immediate vicinity who had title to be present on such an
occasion, there could not be above thirty persons collected. 'When
he was married,' he observed,'three hundred horse of gentlemen
born, besides servants, and some score or two of Highland lairds,
who never got on horseback, were present on the occasion.'

But his pride found some consolation in reflecting that, he and
his son-in-law having been so lately in arms against government,
it might give matter of reasonable fear and offence to the ruling
powers if they were to collect together the kith, kin, and allies
of their houses, arrayed in effeir of war, as was the ancient
custom of Scotland on these occasions--'And, without dubitation,'
he concluded with a sigh, 'many of those who would have rejoiced
most freely upon these joyful espousals are either gone to a
better place or are now exiles from their native land.'

The marriage took place on the appointed day. The Reverend Mr.
Rubrick, kinsman to the proprietor of the hospitable mansion where
it was solemnised, and chaplain to the Baron of Bradwardine, had
the satisfaction to unite their hands; and Frank Stanley acted as
bridesman, having joined Edward with that view soon after his
arrival. Lady Emily and Colonel Talbot had proposed being present;
but Lady Emily's health, when the day approached, was found
inadequate to the journey. In amends it was arranged that Edward
Waverley and his lady, who, with the Baron, proposed an immediate
journey to Waverley-Honour, should in their way spend a few days
at an estate which Colonel Talbot had been tempted to purchase in
Scotland as a very great bargain, and at which he proposed to
reside for some time.





CHAPTER LXXI

    This is no mine ain house, I ken by the bigging o't

    Old Song.


The nuptial party travelled in great style. There was a coach and
six after the newest pattern, which Sir Everard had presented to
his nephew, that dazzled with its splendour the eyes of one half
of Scotland; there was the family coach of Mr. Rubrick;--both
these were crowded with ladies,--and there were gentlemen on
horseback, with their servants, to the number of a round score.
Nevertheless, without having the fear of famine before his eyes,
Bailie Macwheeble met them in the road to entreat that they would
pass by his house at Little Veolan. The Baron stared, and said his
son and he would certainly ride by Little Veolan and pay their
compliments to the Bailie, but could not think of bringing with
them the 'haill comitatus nuptialis, or matrimonial procession.'
He added, 'that, as he understood that the barony had been sold by
its unworthy possessor, he was glad to see his old friend Duncan
had regained his situation under the new Dominus, or proprietor.'
The Bailie ducked, bowed, and fidgeted, and then again insisted
upon his invitation; until the Baron, though rather piqued at the
pertinacity of his instances, could not nevertheless refuse to
consent without making evident sensations which he was anxious to
conceal.

He fell into a deep study as they approached the top of the
avenue, and was only startled from it by observing that the
battlements were replaced, the ruins cleared away, and (most
wonderful of all) that the two great stone bears, those mutilated
Dagons of his idolatry, had resumed their posts over the gateway.
'Now this new proprietor,' said he to Edward, 'has shown mair
gusto, as the Italians call it, in the short time he has had this
domain, than that hound Malcolm, though I bred him here mysell,
has acquired vita adhuc durante. And now I talk of hounds, is not
yon Ban and Buscar who come scouping up the avenue with Davie
Gellatley?'

'I vote we should go to meet them, sir,' said Waverley, 'for I
believe the present master of the house is Colonel Talbot, who
will expect to see us. We hesitated to mention to you at first
that he had purchased your ancient patrimonial property, and even
yet, if you do not incline to visit him, we can pass on to the
Bailie's.'

The Baron had occasion for all his magnanimity. However, he drew a
long breath, took a long snuff, and observed, since they had
brought him so far, he could not pass the Colonel's gate, and he
would be happy to see the new master of his old tenants. He
alighted accordingly, as did the other gentlemen and ladies; he
gave his arm to his daughter, and as they descended the avenue
pointed out to her how speedily the 'Diva Pecunia of the Southron
--their tutelary deity, he might call her--had removed the marks of
spoliation.'

In truth, not only had the felled trees been removed, but, their
stumps being grubbed up and the earth round them levelled and sown
with grass, every mark of devastation, unless to an eye intimately
acquainted with the spot, was already totally obliterated. There
was a similar reformation in the outward man of Davie Gellatley,
who met them, every now and then stopping to admire the new suit
which graced his person, in the same colours as formerly, but
bedizened fine enough to have served Touchstone himself. He danced
up with his usual ungainly frolics, first to the Baron and then to
Rose, passing his hands over his clothes, crying, 'Bra', bra'
Davie,' and scarce able to sing a bar to an end of his thousand-
and-one songs for the breathless extravagance of his joy. The dogs
also acknowledged their old master with a thousand gambols. 'Upon
my conscience, Rose,' ejaculated the Baron, 'the gratitude o' thae
dumb brutes and of that puir innocent brings the tears into my
auld een, while that schellum Malcolm--but I'm obliged to Colonel
Talbot for putting my hounds into such good condition, and
likewise for puir Davie. But, Rose, my dear, we must not permit
them to be a life-rent burden upon the estate.'

As he spoke, Lady Emily, leaning upon the arm of her husband, met
the party at the lower gate with a thousand welcomes. After the
ceremony of introduction had been gone through, much abridged by
the ease and excellent breeding of Lady Emily, she apologised for
having used a little art to wile them back to a place which might
awaken some painful reflections--'But as it was to change masters,
we were very desirous that the Baron--'

'Mr. Bradwardine, madam, if you please,' said the old gentleman.

'--Mr. Bradwardine, then, and Mr. Waverley should see what we have
done towards restoring the mansion of your fathers to its former
state.'

The Baron answered with a low bow. Indeed, when he entered the
court, excepting that the heavy stables, which had been burnt
down, were replaced by buildings of a lighter and more picturesque
appearance, all seemed as much as possible restored to the state
in which he had left it when he assumed arms some months before.
The pigeon-house was replenished; the fountain played with its
usual activity, and not only the bear who predominated over its
basin, but all the other bears whatsoever, were replaced on their
several stations, and renewed or repaired with so much care that
they bore no tokens of the violence which had so lately descended
upon them. While these minutiae had been so needfully attended to,
it is scarce necessary to add that the house itself had been
thoroughly repaired, as well as the gardens, with the strictest
attention to maintain the original character of both, and to
remove as far as possible all appearance of the ravage they had
sustained. The Baron gazed in silent wonder; at length he
addressed Colonel Talbot--

'While I acknowledge my obligation to you, sir, for the
restoration of the badge of our family, I cannot but marvel that
you have nowhere established your own crest, whilk is, I believe,
a mastiff, anciently called a talbot; as the poet has it,

    A talbot strong, a sturdy tyke.

At least such a dog is the crest of the martial and renowned Earls
of Shrewsbury, to whom your family are probably blood-relations.'

'I believe,' said the Colonel, smiling, 'our dogs are whelps of
the same litter; for my part, if crests were to dispute
precedence, I should be apt to let them, as the proverb says,
"fight dog, fight bear."'

As he made this speech, at which the Baron took another long pinch
of snuff, they had entered the house, that is, the Baron, Rose,
and Lady Emily, with young Stanley and the Bailie, for Edward and
the rest of the party remained on the terrace to examine a new
greenhouse stocked with the finest plants. The Baron resumed his
favourite topic--'However it may please you to derogate from the
honour of your burgonet, Colonel Talbot, which is doubtless your
humour, as I have seen in other gentlemen of birth and honour in
your country, I must again repeat it as a most ancient and
distinguished bearing, as well as that of my young friend Francis
Stanley, which is the eagle and child.'

'The bird and bantling they call it in Derbyshire, sir,' said
Stanley.

'Ye're a daft callant, sir,' said the Baron, who had a great
liking to this young man, perhaps because he sometimes teased him
--'Ye're a daft callant, and I must correct you some of these
days,' shaking his great brown fist at him. 'But what I meant to
say, Colonel Talbot, is, that yours is an ancient prosapia, or
descent, and since you have lawfully and justly acquired the
estate for you and yours which I have lost for me and mine, I wish
it may remain in your name as many centuries as it has done in
that of the late proprietor's.'

'That,' answered the Colonel, 'is very handsome, Mr. Bradwardine,
indeed.'

'And yet, sir, I cannot but marvel that you, Colonel, whom I noted
to have so much of the amor patritz when we met in Edinburgh as
even to vilipend other countries, should have chosen to establish
your Lares, or household gods, procul a patrice finibus, and in a
manner to expatriate yourself.'

'Why really, Baron, I do not see why, to keep the secret of these
foolish boys, Waverley and Stanley, and of my wife, who is no
wiser, one old soldier should continue to impose upon another. You
must know, then, that I have so much of that same prejudice in
favour of my native country, that the sum of money which I
advanced to the seller of this extensive barony has only purchased
for me a box in----shire, called Brere-wood Lodge, with about
two hundred and fifty acres of land, the chief merit of which is,
that it is within a very few miles of Waverley-Honour.'

'And who, then, in the name of Heaven, has bought this property?'

'That,' said the Colonel, 'it is this gentleman's profession to
explain.'

The Bailie, whom this reference regarded, and who had all this
while shifted from one foot to another with great impatience,
'like a hen,' as he afterwards said, 'upon a het girdle'; and
chuckling, he might have added, like the said hen in all the glory
of laying an egg, now pushed forward. 'That I can, that I can,
your honour,' drawing from his pocket a budget of papers, and
untying the red tape with a hand trembling with eagerness. 'Here
is the disposition and assignation by Malcolm Bradwardine of Inch-
Grabbit, regularly signed and tested in terms of the statute,
whereby, for a certain sum of sterling money presently contented
and paid to him, he has disponed, alienated, and conveyed the
whole estate and barony of Bradwardine, Tully-Veolan, and others,
with the fortalice and manor-place--'

'For God's sake, to the point, sir; I have all that by heart,'
said the Colonel.

'--To Cosmo Comyne Bradwardme, Esq.,' pursued the Bailie, 'his
heirs and assignees, simply and irredeemably, to be held either a
me vel de me--'

'Pray read short, sir.'

'On the conscience of an honest man, Colonel, I read as short as
is consistent with style--under the burden and reservation always--'

'Mr. Macwheeble, this would outlast a Russian winter; give me
leave. In short, Mr. Bradwardine, your family estate is your own
once more in full property, and at your absolute disposal, but
only burdened with the sum advanced to re-purchase it, which I
understand is utterly disproportioned to its value.'

'An auld sang--an auld sang, if it please your honours,' cried the
Bailie, rubbing his hands; 'look at the rental book.'

'--Which sum being advanced, by Mr. Edward Waverley, chiefly from
the price of his father's property which I bought from him, is
secured to his lady your daughter and her family by this
marriage.'

'It is a catholic security,' shouted the Bailie,' to Rose Comyne
Bradwardine, alias Wauverley, in life-rent, and the children of
the said marriage in fee; and I made up a wee bit minute of an
antenuptial contract, intuitu matrimonij, so it cannot be subject
to reduction hereafter, as a donation inter virum et uxorem.'

It is difficult to say whether the worthy Baron was most delighted
with the restitution of his family property or with the delicacy
and generosity that left him unfettered to pursue his purpose in
disposing of it after his death, and which avoided as much as
possible even the appearance of laying him under pecuniary
obligation. When his first pause of joy and astonishment was over,
his thoughts turned to the unworthy heir-male, who, he pronounced,
had sold his birthright, like Esau, for a mess o' pottage.

'But wha cookit the parritch for him?' exclaimed the Bailie; 'I
wad like to ken that;--wha but your honour's to command, Duncan
Macwheeble? His honour, young Mr. Wauverley, put it a' into my
hand frae the beginning--frae the first calling o' the summons, as
I may say. I circumvented them--I played at bogle about the bush
wi' them--I cajolled them; and if I havena gien Inch-Grabbit and
Jamie Howie a bonnie begunk, they ken themselves. Him a writer! I
didna gae slapdash to them wi' our young bra' bridegroom, to gar
them baud up the market. Na, na; I scared them wi' our wild
tenantry, and the Mac-Ivors, that are but ill settled yet, till
they durstna on ony errand whatsoever gang ower the doorstane
after gloaming, for fear John Heatherblutter, or some siccan dare-
the-deil, should tak a baff at them; then, on the other hand, I
beflummed them wi' Colonel Talbot; wad they offer to keep up the
price again' the Duke's friend? did they na ken wha was master?
had they na seen eneugh, by the sad example of mony a puir
misguided unhappy body--'

'Who went to Derby, for example, Mr. Macwheeble?' said the Colonel
to him aside.

'O whisht, Colonel, for the love o' God! let that flee stick i'
the wa'. There were mony good folk at Derby; and it's ill speaking
of halters'--with a sly cast of his eye toward the Baron, who was
in a deep reverie.

Starting out of it at once, he took Macwheeble by the button and
led him into one of the deep window recesses, whence only
fragments of their conversation reached the rest of the party. It
certainly related to stamp-paper and parchment; for no other
subject, even from the mouth of his patron, and he once more an
efficient one, could have arrested so deeply the Bailie's reverent
and absorbed attention.

'I understand your honour perfectly; it can be dune as easy as
taking out a decreet in absence.'

'To her and him, after my demise, and to their heirs-male, but
preferring the second son, if God shall bless them with two, who
is to carry the name and arms of Bradwardine of that ilk, without
any other name or armorial bearings whatsoever.'

'Tut, your honour!' whispered the Bailie, 'I'll mak a slight
jotting the morn; it will cost but a charter of resignation in
favorem; and I'll hae it ready for the next term in Exchequer.'

Their private conversation ended, the Baron was now summoned to do
the honours of Tully-Veolan to new guests. These were Major
Melville of Cairnvreckan and the Reverend Mr. Morton, followed by
two or three others of the Baron's acquaintances, who had been
made privy to his having again acquired the estate of his fathers.
The shouts of the villagers were also heard beneath in the court-
yard; for Saunders Saunderson, who had kept the secret for several
days with laudable prudence, had unloosed his tongue upon
beholding the arrival of the carriages.

But, while Edward received Major Melville with politeness and the
clergyman with the most affectionate and grateful kindness, his
father-in-law looked a little awkward, as uncertain how he should
answer the necessary claims of hospitality to his guests, and
forward the festivity of his tenants. Lady Emily relieved him by
intimating that, though she must be an indifferent representative
of Mrs. Edward Waverley in many respects, she hoped the Baron
would approve of the entertainment she had ordered in expectation
of so many guests; and that they would find such other
accommodations provided as might in some degree support the
ancient hospitality of Tully-Veolan. It is impossible to describe
the pleasure which this assurance gave the Baron, who, with an air
of gallantry half appertaining to the stiff Scottish laird and
half to the officer in the French service, offered his arm to the
fair speaker, and led the way, in something between a stride and a
minuet step, into the large dining parlour, followed by all the
rest of the good company.

By dint of Saunderson's directions and exertions, all here, as
well as in the other apartments, had been disposed as much as
possible according to the old arrangement; and where new movables
had been necessary, they had been selected in the same character
with the old furniture. There was one addition to this fine old
apartment, however, which drew tears into the Baron's eyes. It was
a large and spirited painting, representing Fergus Mac-Ivor and
Waverley in their Highland dress, the scene a wild, rocky, and
mountainous pass, down which the clan were descending in the
background. It was taken from a spirited sketch, drawn while they
were in Edinburgh by a young man of high genius, and had been
painted on a full-length scale by an eminent London artist.
Raeburn himself (whose 'Highland Chiefs' do all but walk out of
the canvas) could not have done more justice to the subject; and
the ardent, fiery, and impetuous character of the unfortunate
Chief of Glennaquoich was finely contrasted with the
contemplative, fanciful, and enthusiastic expression of his
happier friend. Beside this painting hung the arms which Waverley
had borne in the unfortunate civil war. The whole piece was beheld
with admiration and deeper feelings.

Men must, however, eat, in spite both of sentiment and vertu; and
the Baron, while he assumed the lower end of the table, insisted
that Lady Emily should do the honours of the head, that they
might, he said, set a meet example to the YOUNG FOLK. After a
pause of deliberation, employed in adjusting in his own brain the
precedence between the Presbyterian kirk and Episcopal church of
Scotland, he requested Mr. Morton, as the stranger, would crave a
blessing, observing that Mr. Rubrick, who was at HOME, would
return thanks for the distinguished mercies it had been his lot to
experience. The dinner was excellent. Saunderson attended in full
costume, with all the former domestics, who had been collected,
excepting one or two, that had not been heard of since the affair
of Culloden. The cellars were stocked with wine which was
pronounced to be superb, and it had been contrived that the Bear
of the Fountain, in the courtyard, should (for that night only)
play excellent brandy punch for the benefit of the lower orders.

When the dinner was over the Baron, about to propose a toast, cast
a somewhat sorrowful look upon the sideboard, which, however,
exhibited much of his plate, that had either been secreted or
purchased by neighbouring gentlemen from the soldiery, and by them
gladly restored to the original owner.

"In the late times," he said, "those must be thankful who have
saved life and land; yet when I am about to pronounce this toast,
I cannot but regret an old heirloom, Lady Emily, a POCULUM
POTATORIUM, Colonel Talbot--"

Here the Baron's elbow was gently touched by his major-domo, and,
turning round, he beheld in the hands of Alexander ab Alexandro
the celebrated cup of Saint Duthac, the Blessed Bear of
Bradwardine! I question if the recovery of his estate afforded him
more rapture. "By my honour," he said, "one might almost believe
in brownies and fairies, Lady Emily, when your ladyship is in
presence!"

"I am truly happy," said Colonel Talbot, "that, by the recovery of
this piece of family antiquity, it has fallen within my power to
give you some token of my deep interest in all that concerns my
young friend Edward. But that you may not suspect Lady Emily for a
sorceress, or me for a conjuror, which is no joke in Scotland, I
must tell you that Frank Stanley, your friend, who has been seized
with a tartan fever ever since he heard Edward's tales of old
Scottish manners, happened to describe to us at second-hand this
remarkable cup. My servant, Spontoon, who, like a true old
soldier, observes everything and says little, gave me afterwards
to understand that he thought he had seen the piece of plate Mr.
Stanley mentioned in the possession of a certain Mrs. Nosebag,
who, having been originally the helpmate of a pawnbroker, had
found opportunity during the late unpleasant scenes in Scotland to
trade a little in her old line, and so became the depositary of
the more valuable part of the spoil of half the army. You may
believe the cup was speedily recovered; and it will give me very
great pleasure if you allow me to suppose that its value is not
diminished by having been restored through my means."

A tear mingled with the wine which the Baron filled, as he
proposed a cup of gratitude to Colonel Talbot, and 'The Prosperity
of the united Houses of Waverley-Honour and Bradwardine!'

It only remains for me to say that, as no wish was ever uttered
with more affectionate sincerity, there are few which, allowing
for the necessary mutability of human events, have been upon the
whole more happily fulfilled.





CHAPTER LXXII

A POSTSCRIPT WHICH SHOULD HAVE BEEN A PREFACE


Our journey is now finished, gentle reader; and if your patience
has accompanied me through these sheets, the contract is, on your
part, strictly fulfilled. Yet, like the driver who has received
his full hire, I still linger near you, and make, with becoming
diffidence, a trifling additional claim upon your bounty and good
nature. You are as free, however, to shut the volume of the one
petitioner as to close your door in the face of the other.

This should have been a prefatory chapter, but for two reasons:
First, that most novel readers, as my own conscience reminds me,
are apt to be guilty of the sin of omission respecting that same
matter of prefaces; Secondly, that it is a general custom with
that class of students to begin with the last chapter of a work;
so that, after all, these remarks, being introduced last in order,
have still the best chance to be read in their proper place.

There is no European nation which, within the course of half a
century or little more, has undergone so complete a change as this
kingdom of Scotland. The effects of the insurrection of 1745,--the
destruction of the patriarchal power of the Highland chiefs,--the
abolition of the heritable jurisdictions of the Lowland nobility
and barons,--the total eradication of the Jacobite party, which,
averse to intermingle with the English, or adopt their customs,
long continued to pride themselves upon maintaining ancient
Scottish manners and customs,--commenced this innovation. The
gradual influx of wealth and extension of commerce have since
united to render the present people of Scotland a class of beings
as different from their grandfathers as the existing English are
from those of Queen Elizabeth's time.

The political and economical effects of these changes have been
traced by Lord Selkirk with great precision and accuracy. But the
change, though steadily and rapidly progressive, has nevertheless
been gradual; and, like those who drift down the stream of a deep
and smooth river, we are not aware of the progress we have made
until we fix our eye on the now distant point from which we have
been drifted. Such of the present generation as can recollect the
last twenty or twenty-five years of the eighteenth century will be
fully sensible of the truth of this statement; especially if their
acquaintance and connexions lay among those who in my younger time
were facetiously called 'folks of the old leaven,' who still
cherished a lingering, though hopeless, attachment to the house of
Stuart.

This race has now almost entirely vanished from the land, and with
it, doubtless, much absurd political prejudice; but also many
living examples of singular and disinterested attachment to the
principles of loyalty which they received from their fathers, and
of old Scottish faith, hospitality, worth, and honour.

It was my accidental lot, though not born a Highlander (which may
be an apology for much bad Gaelic), to reside during my childhood
and youth among persons of the above description; and now, for the
purpose of preserving some idea of the ancient manners of which I
have witnessed the almost total extinction, I have embodied in
imaginary scenes, and ascribed to fictitious characters, a part of
the incidents which I then received from those who were actors in
them. Indeed, the most romantic parts of this narrative are
precisely those which have a foundation in fact.

The exchange of mutual protection between a Highland gentleman and
an officer of rank in the king's service, together with the
spirited manner in which the latter asserted his right to return
the favour he had received, is literally true. The accident by a
musket shot, and the heroic reply imputed to Flora, relate to a
lady of rank not long deceased. And scarce a gentleman who was 'in
hiding' after the battle of Culloden but could tell a tale of
strange concealments and of wild and hair'sbreadth'scapes as
extraordinary as any which I have ascribed to my heroes. Of this,
the escape of Charles Edward himself, as the most prominent, is
the most striking example. The accounts of the battle of Preston
and skirmish at Clifton are taken from the narrative of
intelligent eye-witnesses, and corrected from the 'History of the
Rebellion' by the late venerable author of 'Douglas.' The Lowland
Scottish gentlemen and the subordinate characters are not given as
individual portraits, but are drawn from the general habits of the
period, of which I have witnessed some remnants in my younger
days, and partly gathered from tradition.

It has been my object to describe these persons, not by a
caricatured and exaggerated use of the national dialect, but by
their habits, manners, and feelings, so as in some distant degree
to emulate the admirable Irish portraits drawn by Miss Edgeworth,
so different from the 'Teagues' and 'dear joys' who so long, with
the most perfect family resemblance to each other, occupied the
drama and the novel.

I feel no confidence, however, in the manner in which I have
executed my purpose. Indeed, so little was I satisfied with my
production, that I laid it aside in an unfinished state, and only
found it again by mere accident among other waste papers in an old
cabinet, the drawers of which I was rummaging in order to
accommodate a friend with some fishing-tackle, after it had been
mislaid for several years.

Two works upon similar subjects, by female authors whose genius is
highly creditable to their country, have appeared in the interval;
I mean Mrs. Hamilton's 'Glenburnie' and the late account of
'Highland Superstitions.' But the first is confined to the rural
habits of Scotland, of which it has given a picture with striking
and impressive fidelity; and the traditional records of the
respectable and ingenious Mrs. Grant of Laggan are of a nature
distinct from the fictitious narrative which I have here
attempted.

I would willingly persuade myself that the preceding work will not
be found altogether uninteresting. To elder persons it will recall
scenes and characters familiar to their youth; and to the rising
generation the tale may present some idea of the manners of their
forefathers.

Yet I heartily wish that the task of tracing the evanescent
manners of his own country had employed the pen of the only man in
Scotland who could have done it justice--of him so eminently
distinguished in elegant literature, and whose sketches of Colonel
Caustic and Umphraville are perfectly blended with the finer
traits of national character. I should in that case have had more
pleasure as a reader than I shall ever feel in the pride of a
successful author, should these sheets confer upon me that envied
distinction. And, as I have inverted the usual arrangement,
placing these remarks at the end of the work to which they refer,
I will venture on a second violation of form, by closing the whole
with a Dedication--

THESE VOLUMES BEING RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO OUR SCOTTISH
ADDISON, HENRY MACKENZIE, BY AN UNKNOWN ADMIRER OF HIS GENIUS.





THE END





NOTES


NOTE I, p. 19

The clan of Mac-Farlane, occupying the fastnesses of the western
side of Loch Lomond, were great depredators on the Low Country,
and as their excursions were made usually by night, the moon was
proverbially called their lantern. Their celebrated pibroch of
Hoggil nam Bo, which is the name of their gathering tune,
intimates similar practices, the sense being:--

     We are bound to drive the bullocks,
     All by hollows, hirsts, and hillocks,
     Through the sleet, and through the rain.
     When the moon is beaming low
     On frozen lake and hills of snow,
     Bold and heartily we go;
     And all for little gain.

NOTE 2, p. 22

This noble ruin is dear to my recollection, from associations
which have been long and painfully broken. It holds a commanding
station on the banks of the river Teith, and has been one of the
largest castles in Scotland. Murdoch, Duke of Albany, the founder
of this stately pile, was beheaded on the Castle-hill of Stirling,
from which he might see the towers of Doune, the monument of his
fallen greatness.

In 1745-46, as stated in the text, a garrison on the part of the
Chevalier was put into the castle, then less ruinous than at
present. It was commanded by Mr. Stewart of Balloch, as governor
for Prince Charles; he was a man of property near Callander. This
castle became at that time the actual scene of a romantic escape
made by John Home, the author of Douglas, and some other
prisoners, who, having been taken at the battle of Falkirk, were
confined there by the insurgents. The poet, who had in his own
mind a large stock of that romantic and enthusiastic spirit of
adventure which he has described as animating the youthful hero of
his drama, devised and undertook the perilous enterprise of
escaping from his prison. He inspired his companions with his
sentiments, and when every attempt at open force was deemed
hopeless, they resolved to twist their bed-clothes into ropes and
thus to descend. Four persons, with Home himself, reached the
ground in safety. But the rope broke with the fifth, who was a
tall, lusty man. The sixth was Thomas Barrow, a brave young
Englishman, a particular friend of Home's. Determined to take the
risk, even in such unfavourable circumstances, Barrow committed
himself to the broken rope, slid down on it as far as it could
assist him, and then let himself drop. His friends beneath
succeeded in breaking his fall. Nevertheless, he dislocated his
ankle and had several of his ribs broken. His companions, however,
were able to bear him off in safety.

The Highlanders next morning sought for their prisoners with great
activity. An old gentleman told the author he remembered seeing
the commandant Stewart

    Bloody with spurring, fiery red with haste,

riding furiously through the country in quest of the fugitives.

NOTE 3, p. 28

To go out, or to have been out, in Scotland was a conventional
phrase similar to that of the Irish respecting a man having been
up, both having reference to an individual who had been engaged in
insurrection. It was accounted ill-breeding in Scotland about
forty years since to use the phrase rebellion or rebel, which
might be interpreted by some of the parties present as a personal
insult. It was also esteemed more polite, even for stanch Whigs,
to denominate Charles Edward the Chevalier than to speak of him as
the Pretender; and this kind of accommodating courtesy was usually
observed in society where individuals of each party mixed on
friendly terms.

NOTE 4, p. 38

The Jacobite sentiments were general among the western counties
and in Wales. But although the great families of the Wynnes, the
Wyndhams, and others had come under an actual obligation to join
Prince Charles if he should land, they had done so under the
express stipulation that he should be assisted by an auxiliary
army of French, without which they foresaw the enterprise would be
desperate. Wishing well to his cause, therefore, and watching an
opportunity to join him, they did not, nevertheless, think
themselves bound in honour to do so, as he was only supported by a
body of wild mountaineers, speaking an uncouth dialect, and
wearing a singular dress. The race up to Derby struck them with
more dread than admiration. But it is difficult to say what the
effect might have been had either the battle of Preston or Falkirk
been fought and won during the advance into England.

NOTE 5, p. 43

Divisions early showed themselves in the Chevalier's little army,
not only amongst the independent chieftains, who were far too
proud to brook subjection to each other, but betwixt the Scotch
and Charles's governor O'Sullivan, an Irishman by birth, who, with
some of his countrymen bred in the Irish Brigade in the service of
the King of France, had an influence with the Adventurer much
resented by the Highlanders, who were sensible that their own
clans made the chief or rather the only strength of his
enterprise. There was a feud, also, between Lord George Murray and
John Murray of Broughton, the Prince's secretary, whose disunion
greatly embarrassed the affairs of the Adventurer. In general, a
thousand different pretensions divided their little army, and
finally contributed in no small degree to its overthrow.

NOTE 6, p. 78

This circumstance, which is historical, as well as the description
that precedes it, will remind the reader of the war of La Vendee,
in which the royalists, consisting chiefly of insurgent peasantry,
attached a prodigious and even superstitious interest to the
possession of a piece of brass ordnance, which they called Marie
Jeanne.

The Highlanders of an early period were afraid of cannon, with the
noise and effect of which they were totally unacquainted. It was
by means of three or four small pieces of artillery that the Earls
of Huntly and Errol, in James VI's time, gained a great victory at
Glenlivat, over a numerous Highland army, commanded by the Earl of
Argyle. At the battle of the Bridge of Dee, General Middleton
obtained by his artillery a similar success, the Highlanders not
being able to stand the discharge of Musket's Mother, which was
the name they bestowed on great guns. In an old ballad on the
battle of the Bridge of Dee these verses occur:--

       The Highlandmen are pretty men
         For handling sword and shield,
       But yet they are but simple men
         To stand a stricken field.

        The Highlandmen are pretty men
          For target and claymore,
        But yet they are but naked men
          To face the cannon's roar.

        For the cannons roar on a summer night
          Like thunder in the air;
        Was never man in Highland garb
          Would face the cannon fair

But the Highlanders of 1745 had got far beyond the simplicity of
their forefathers, and showed throughout the whole war how little
they dreaded artillery, although the common people still attached
some consequence to the possession of the field-piece which led to
this disquisition.

NOTE 7, p. 93

The faithful friend who pointed out the pass by which the
Highlanders moved from Tranent to Seaton was Robert Anderson,
junior, of Whitburgh, a gentleman of property in East Lothian. He
had been interrogated by the Lord George Murray concerning the
possibility of crossing the uncouth and marshy piece of ground
which divided the armies, and which he described as impracticable.
When dismissed, he recollected that there was a circuitous path
leading eastward through the marsh into the plain, by which the
Highlanders might turn the flank of Sir John Cope's position
without being exposed to the enemy's fire. Having mentioned his
opinion to Mr. Hepburn of Keith, who instantly saw its importance,
he was encouraged by that gentleman to awake Lord George Murray
and communicate the idea to him. Lord George received the
information with grateful thanks, and instantly awakened Prince
Charles, who was sleeping in the field with a bunch of pease under
his head. The Adventurer received with alacrity the news that
there was a possibility of bringing an excellently provided army
to a decisive battle with his own irregular forces. His joy on the
occasion was not very consistent with the charge of cowardice
brought against him by Chevalier Johnstone, a discontented
follower, whose Memoirs possess at least as much of a romantic as
a historical character. Even by the account of the Chevalier
himself, the Prince was at the head of the second line of the
Highland army during the battle, of which he says, 'It was gained
with such rapidity that in the second line, where I was still by
the side of the Prince, we saw no other enemy than those who were
lying on the ground killed and wounded, though we were not more
than fifty paces behind our first line, running always as fast as
we could to overtake them.'

This passage in the Chevalier's Memoirs places the Prince within
fifty paces of the heat of the battle, a position which would
never have been the choice of one unwilling to take a share of its
dangers. Indeed, unless the chiefs had complied with the young
Adventurer's proposal to lead the van in person, it does not
appear that he could have been deeper in the action.

NOTE 8, p. 100

The death of this good Christian and gallant man is thus given by
his affectionate biographer, Doctor Doddridge, from the evidence
of eye-witnesses:--

'He continued all night under arms, wrapped up in his cloak, and
generally sheltered under a rick of barley which happened to be in
the field. About three in the morning he called his domestic
servants to him, of which there were four in waiting. He dismissed
three of them with most affectionate Christian advice, and such
solemn charges relating to the performance of their duty, and the
care of their souls, as seemed plainly to intimate that he
apprehended it was at least very probable he was taking his last
farewell of them. There is great reason to believe that he spent
the little remainder of the time, which could not be much above an
hour, in those devout exercises of soul which had been so long
habitual to him, and to which so many circumstances did then
concur to call him. The army was alarmed by break of day by the
noise of the rebels' approach, and the attack was made before
sunrise, yet when it was light enough to discern what passed. As
soon as the enemy came within gun-shot they made a furious fire;
and it is said that the dragoons which constituted the left wing
immediately fled. The Colonel at the beginning of the onset, which
in the whole lasted but a few minutes, received a wound by a
bullet in his left breast, which made him give a sudden spring in
his saddle; upon which his servant, who led the horse, would have
persuaded him to retreat, but he said it was only a wound in the
flesh, and fought on, though he presently after received a shot in
his right thigh. In the mean time, it was discerned that some of
the enemy fell by him, and particularly one man who had made him a
treacherous visit but a few days before, with great professions of
zeal for the present establishment.

'Events of this kind pass in less time than the description of
them can be written, or than it can be read. The Colonel was for a
few moments supported by his men, and particularly by that worthy
person Lieutenant-Colonel Whitney, who was shot through the arm
here, and a few months after fell nobly at the battle of Falkirk,
and by Lieutenant West, a man of distinguished bravery, as also by
about fifteen dragoons, who stood by him to the last. But after a
faint fire, the regiment in general was seized with a panic; and
though their Colonel and some other gallant officers did what they
could to rally them once or twice, they at last took a precipitate
flight. And just in the moment when Colonel Gardiner seemed to be
making a pause to deliberate what duty required him to do in such
circumstances, an accident happened, which must, I think, in the
judgment of every worthy and generous man, be allowed a sufficient
apology for exposing his life to so great hazard, when his
regiment had left him. He saw a party of the foot, who were then
bravely fighting near him, and whom he was ordered to support, had
no officer to head them; upon which he said eagerly, in the
hearing of the person from whom I had this account, "These brave
fellows will be cut to pieces for want of a commander," or words
to that effect; which while he was speaking he rode up to them and
cried out, "Fire on, my lads, and fear nothing." But just as the
words were out of his mouth, a Highlander advanced towards him
with a scythe fastened to a long pole, with which he gave him so
dreadful a wound on his right arm, that his sword dropped out of
his hand; and at the same time several others coming about him
while he was thus dreadfully entangled with that cruel weapon, he
was dragged off from his horse. The moment he fell, another
Highlander, who, if the king's evidence at Carlisle may be
credited (as I know not why they should not, though the unhappy
creature died denying it), was one Mac-Naught, who was executed
about a year after, gave him a stroke either with a broadsword or
a Lochaber-axe (for my informant could not exactly distinguish) on
the hinder part of his head, which was the mortal blow. All that
his faithful attendant saw farther at this time was that, as his
hat was fallen off, he took it in his left hand and waved it as a
signal to him to retreat, and added, what were the last words he
ever heard him speak, "Take care of yourself"; upon which the
servant retired.'--Some Remarkable Passages in the Life of Colonel
James Gardiner. By P. Doddridge, D.D. London, 1747, P.187.

I may remark on this extract, that it confirms the account given
in the text of the resistance offered by some of the English
infantry. Surprised by a force of a peculiar and unusual
description, their opposition could not be long or formidable,
especially as they were deserted by the cavalry, and those who
undertook to manage the artillery. But, although the affair was
soon decided, I have always understood that many of the infantry
showed an inclination to do their duty.

NOTE 9, p. 101

It is scarcely necessary to say that the character of this brutal
young Laird is entirely imaginary. A gentleman, however, who
resembled Balmawhapple in the article of courage only, fell at
Preston in the manner described. A Perthshire gentleman of high
honour and respectability, one of the handful of cavalry who
followed the fortunes of Charles Edward, pursued the fugitive
dragoons almost alone till near Saint Clement's Wells, where the
efforts of some of the officers had prevailed on a few of them to
make a momentary stand. Perceiving at this moment that they were
pursued by only one man and a couple of servants, they turned upon
him and cut him down with their swords. I remember when a child,
sitting on his grave, where the grass long grew rank and green,
distinguishing it from the rest of the field. A female of the
family then residing at Saint Clement's Wells used to tell me the
tragedy, of which she had been an eye-witness, and showed me in
evidence one of the silver clasps of the unfortunate gentleman's
waistcoat.

NOTE 10, p. 118

The name of Andrea de Ferrara is inscribed on all the Scottish
broadswords which are accounted of peculiar excellence. Who this
artist was, what were his fortunes, and when he flourished, have
hitherto defied the research of antiquaries; only it is in general
believed that Andrea de Ferrara was a Spanish or Italian
artificer, brought over by James IV or V to instruct the Scots in
the manufacture of sword blades. Most barbarous nations excel in
the fabrication of arms; and the Scots had attained great
proficiency in forging swords so early as the field of Pinkie; at
which period the historian Patten describes them as 'all notably
broad and thin, universally made to slice, and of such exceeding
good temper that, as I never saw any so good, so I think it hard
to devise better.'--Account of Somerset's Expedition.

It may be observed that the best and most genuine Andrea Ferraras
have a crown marked on the blade.

NOTE 11, p. 124

The incident here said to have happened to Flora Mac-Ivor actually
befell Miss Nairne, a lady with whom the author had the pleasure
of being acquainted. As the Highland army rushed into Edinburgh,
Miss Nairne, like other ladies who approved of their cause, stood
waving her handkerchief from a balcony, when a ball from a
Highlander's musket, which was discharged by accident, grazed her
forehead. 'Thank God,' said she, the instant she recovered,'that
the accident happened to me, whose principles are known. Had it
befallen a Whig, they would have said it was done on purpose.'

NOTE 12, p. 185

The Author of Waverley has been charged with painting the young
Adventurer in colours more amiable than his character deserved.
But having known many individuals who were near his person, he has
been described according to the light in which those eye-witnesses
saw his temper and qualifications. Something must be allowed, no
doubt, to the natural exaggerations of those who remembered him as
the bold and adventurous Prince in whose cause they had braved
death and ruin; but is their evidence to give place entirely to
that of a single malcontent?

I have already noticed the imputations thrown by the Chevalier
Johnstone on the Prince's courage. But some part at least of that
gentleman's tale is purely romantic. It would not, for instance,
be supposed that at the time he is favouring us with the highly
wrought account of his amour with the adorable Peggie, the
Chevalier Johnstone was a married man, whose grandchild is now
alive; or that the whole circumstantial story concerning the
outrageous vengeance taken by Gordon of Abbachie on a Presbyterian
clergyman is entirely apocryphal. At the same time it may be
admitted that the Prince, like others of his family, did not
esteem the services done him by his adherents so highly as he
ought. Educated in high ideas of his hereditary right, he has been
supposed to have held every exertion and sacrifice made in his
cause as too much the duty of the person making it to merit
extravagant gratitude on his part. Dr. King's evidence (which his
leaving the Jacobite interest renders somewhat doubtful) goes to
strengthen this opinion.

The ingenious editor of Johnstone's Memoirs has quoted a story
said to be told by Helvetius, stating that Prince Charles Edward,
far from voluntarily embarking on his daring expedition, was,
literally bound hand and foot, and to which he seems disposed to
yield credit. Now, it being a fact as well known as any in his
history, and, so far as I know, entirely undisputed, that the
Prince's personal entreaties and urgency positively forced
Boisdale and Lochiel into insurrection, when they were earnestly
desirous that he would put off his attempt until he could obtain a
sufficient force from France, it will be very difficult to
reconcile his alleged reluctance to undertake the expedition with
his desperately insisting upon carrying the rising into effect
against the advice and entreaty of his most powerful and most sage
partizans. Surely a man who had been carried bound on board the
vessel which brought him to so desperate an enterprise would have
taken the opportunity afforded by the reluctance of his partizans
to return to France in safety.

It is averred in Johnstone's Memoirs that Charles Edward left the
field of Culloden without doing the utmost to dispute the victory;
and, to give the evidence on both sides, there is in existence the
more trustworthy testimony of Lord Elcho, who states that he
himself earnestly exhorted the Prince to charge at the head of the
left wing, which was entire, and retrieve the day or die with
honour. And on his counsel being declined, Lord Elcho took leave
of him with a bitter execration, swearing he would never look on
his face again, and kept his word.

On the other hand, it seems to have been the opinion of almost all
the other officers that the day was irretrievably lost, one wing
of the Highlanders being entirely routed, the rest of the army
outnumbered, outflanked, and in a condition totally hopeless. In
this situation of things the Irish officers who surrounded
Charles's person interfered to force him off the field. A cornet
who was close to the Prince left a strong attestation that he had
seen Sir Thomas Sheridan seize the bridle of his horse and turn
him round. There is some discrepancy of evidence; but the opinion
of Lord Elcho, a man of fiery temper and desperate at the ruin
which he beheld impending, cannot fairly be taken in prejudice of
a character for courage which is intimated by the nature of the
enterprise itself, by the Prince's eagerness to fight on all
occasions, by his determination to advance from Derby to London,
and by the presence of mind which he manifested during the
romantic perils of his escape. The author is far from claiming for
this unfortunate person the praise due to splendid talents; but he
continues to be of opinion that at the period of his enterprise he
had a mind capable of facing danger and aspiring to fame.

That Charles Edward had the advantages of a graceful presence,
courtesy, and an address and manner becoming his station, the
author never heard disputed by any who approached his person, nor
does he conceive that these qualities are overcharged in the
present attempt to sketch his portrait.

The following extracts corroborative of the general opinion
respecting the Prince's amiable disposition are taken from a
manuscript account of his romantic expedition, by James Maxwell of
Kirkconnell, of which I possess a copy, by the friendship of J.
Menzies, Esq., of Pitfoddells. The author, though partial to the
Prince, whom he faithfully followed, seems to have been a fair and
candid man, and well acquainted with the intrigues among the
adventurer's council:--

'Everybody was mightily taken with the Prince's figure and
personal behaviour. There was but one voice about them. Those whom
interest or prejudice made a runaway to his cause could not help
acknowledging that they wished him well in all other respects, and
could hardly blame him for his present undertaking. Sundry things
had concurred to raise his character to the highest pitch, besides
the greatness of the enterprise and the conduct that had hitherto
appeared in the execution of it.

'There were several instances of good nature and humanity that had
made a great impression on people's minds. I shall confine myself
to two or three.

'Immediately after the battle, as the Prince was riding along the
ground that Cope's army had occupied a few minutes before, one of
the officers came up to congratulate him, and said, pointing to
the killed, "Sir, there are your enemies at your feet." The
Prince, far from exulting, expressed a great deal of compassion
for his father's deluded subjects, whom he declared he was
heartily sorry to see in that posture.

'Next day, while the Prince was at Pinkie House, a citizen of
Edinburgh came to make some representation to Secretary Murray
about the tents that city was ordered to furnish against a certain
day. Murray happened to be out of the way, which the Prince
hearing of called to have the gentleman brought to him, saying, he
would rather despatch the business, whatever it was, himself than
have the gentleman wait, which he did, by granting everything that
was asked. So much affability in a young prince flushed with
victory drew encomiums even from his enemies.

'But what gave the people the highest idea of him was the negative
he gave to a thing that very nearly concerned his interest, and
upon which the success of his enterprise perhaps depended. It was
proposed to send one of the prisoners to London to demand of that
court a cartel for the exchange of prisoners taken, and to be
taken, during this war, and to intimate that a refusal would be
looked upon as a resolution on their part to give no quarter. It
was visible a cartel would be of great advantage to the Prince's
affairs; his friends would be more ready to declare for him if
they had nothing to fear but the chance of war in the field; and
if the court of London refused to settle a cartel, the Prince was
authorised to treat his prisoners in the same manner the Elector
of Hanover was determined to treat such of the Prince's friends as
might fall into his hands; it was urged that a few examples would
compel the court of London to comply. It was to be presumed that
the officers of the English army would make a point of it. They
had never engaged in the service but upon such terms as are in use
among all civilised nations, and it could be no stain upon their
honour to lay down their commissions if these terms were not
observed, and that owing to the obstinacy of their own Prince.
Though this scheme was plausible, and represented as very
important, the Prince could never be brought into it, it was below
him, he said, to make empty threats, and he would never put such
as those into execution; he would never in cold blood take away
lives which he had saved in heat of action at the peril of his
own. These were not the only proofs of good nature the Prince gave
about this time. Every day produced something new of this kind.
These things softened the rigour of a military government which
was only imputed to the necessity of his affairs, and which he
endeavoured to make as gentle and easy as possible.'

It has been said that the Prince sometimes exacted more state and
ceremonial than seemed to suit his condition; but, on the other
hand, some strictness of etiquette was altogether indispensable
where he must otherwise have been exposed to general intrusion. He
could also endure, with a good grace, the retorts which his
affectation of ceremony sometimes exposed him to. It is said, for
example, that Grant of Glenmoriston having made a hasty march to
join Charles, at the head of his clan, rushed into the Prince's
presence at Holyrood with unceremonious haste, without having
attended to the duties of the toilet. The Prince received him
kindly, but not without a hint that a previous interview with the
barber might not have been wholly unnecessary. 'It is not
beardless boys,' answered the displeased Chief, 'who are to do
your Royal Highness's turn.' The Chevalier took the rebuke in good
part.

On the whole, if Prince Charles had concluded his life soon after
his miraculous escape, his character in history must have stood
very high. As it was, his station is amongst those a certain
brilliant portion of whose life forms a remarkable contrast to all
which precedes and all which follows it.

NOTE 13, p. 195

The following account of the skirmish at Clifton is extracted from
the manuscript Memoirs of Evan Macpherson of Cluny, Chief of the
clan Macpherson, who had the merit of supporting the principal
brunt of that spirited affair. The Memoirs appear to have been
composed about 1755, only ten years after the action had taken
place. They were written in France, where that gallant chief
resided in exile, which accounts for some Gallicisms which occur
in the narrative.

'In the Prince's return from Derby back towards Scotland, my Lord
George Murray, Lieutenant-General, cheerfully charg'd himself with
the command of the rear, a post which, altho' honourable, was
attended with great danger, many difficulties, and no small
fatigue; for the Prince, being apprehensive that his retreat to
Scotland might be cut off by Marischall Wade, who lay to the
northward of him with an armie much supperior to what H.R.H. had,
while the Duke of Comberland with his whole cavalrie followed hard
in the rear, was obliged to hasten his marches. It was not,
therefore, possible for the artilirie to march so fast as the
Prince's army, in the depth of winter, extremely bad weather, and
the worst roads in England; so Lord George Murray was obliged
often to continue his marches long after it was dark almost every
night, while at the same time he had frequent allarms and
disturbances from the Duke of Comberland's advanc'd parties.

'Towards the evening of the twentie-eight December 1745 the Prince
entered the town of Penrith, in the Province of Comberland. But as
Lord George Murray could not bring up the artilirie so fast as he
wou'd have wish'd, he was oblig'd to pass the night six miles
short of that town, together with the regiment of MacDonel of
Glengarrie, which that day happened to have the arrear guard. The
Prince, in order to refresh his armie, and to give My Lord George
and the artilirie time to come up, resolved to sejour the 29th at
Penrith; so ordered his little army to appear in the morning under
arms, in order to be reviewed, and to know in what manner the
numbers stood from his haveing entered England. It did not at that
time amount to 5000 foot in all, with about 400 cavalrie, compos'd
of the noblesse who serv'd as volunteers, part of whom form'd a
first troop of guards for the Prince, under the command of My Lord
Elchoe, now Comte de Weems, who, being proscribed, is presently in
France. Another part formed a second troup of guards under the
command of My Lord Balmirino, who was beheaded at the Tower of
London. A third part serv'd under My Lord le Comte de Kilmarnock,
who was likewise beheaded at the Tower. A fourth part serv'd under
My Lord Pitsligow, who is also proscribed; which cavalrie, tho'
very few in numbers, being all noblesse, were very brave, and of
infinite advantage to the foot, not only in the day of battle, but
in serving as advanced guards on the several marches, and in
patroling dureing the night on the different roads which led
towards the towns where the army happened to quarter.

'While this small army was out in a body on the 2Qth December,
upon a riseing ground to the northward of Penrith, passing review,
Mons. de Cluny, with his tribe, was ordered to the Bridge of
Clifton, about a mile to southward of Penrith, after having pass'd
in review before Mons. Pattullo, who was charged with the
inspection of the troops, and was likeways Quarter-Master-General
of the army, and is now in France. They remained under arms at the
bridge, waiting the arrival of My Lord George Murray with the
artilirie, whom Mons. de Cluny had orders to cover in passing the
bridge. They arrived about sunsett closly pursued by the Duke of
Comberland with the whole body of his cavalrie, reckoned upwards
of 3000 strong, about a thousand of whom, as near as might be
computed, dismounted, in order to cut off the passage of the
artilirie towards the bridge, while the Duke and the others
remained on horseback in order to attack the rear.

'My Lord George Murray advanced, and although he found Mons. de
Cluny and his tribe in good spirits under arms, yet the
circumstance appear'd extremely delicate. The numbers were vastly
unequall, and the attack seem'd very dangerous; so My Lord George
declin'd giving orders to such time as he ask'd Mons. de Cluny's
oppinion. "I will attack them with all my heart," says Mons. de
Cluny, "if you order me." "I do order it then," answered My Lord
George, and immediately went on himself along with Mons. de Cluny,
and fought sword in hand on foot at the head of the single tribe
of Macphersons. They in a moment made their way through a strong
hedge of thorns, under the cover whereof the cavalrie had taken
their station, in the strugle of passing which hedge My Lord
George Murray, being dressed en montagnard, as all the army were,
lost his bonet and wig; so continued to fight bare-headed during
the action. They at first made a brisk discharge of their firearms
on the enemy, then attacked them with their sabres, and made a
great slaughter a considerable time, which obliged Comberland and
his cavalrie to fly with precipitation and in great confusion; in
so much that, if the Prince had been provided in a sufficient
number of cavalrie to have taken advantage of the disorder, it is
beyond question that the Duke of Comberland and the bulk of his
cavalrie had been taken prisoners.

'By this time it was so dark that it was not possible to view or
number the slain who filled all the ditches which happened to be
on the ground where they stood. But it was computed that, besides
those who went off wounded, upwards of a hundred at least were
left on the spot, among whom was Colonel Honywood, who commanded
the dismounted cavalrie, whose sabre of considerable value Mons.
de Cluny brought off and still preserves; and his tribe lykeways
brought off many arms;--the Colonel was afterwards taken up, and,
his wounds being dress'd, with great difficultie recovered. Mons.
de Cluny lost only in the action twelve men, of whom some haveing
been only wounded, fell afterwards into the hands of the enemy,
and were sent as slaves to America, whence several of them
returned, and one of them is now in France, a sergeant in the
Regiment of Royal Scots. How soon the accounts of the enemies
approach had reached the Prince, H.R.H. had immediately ordered
Mi-Lord le Comte de Nairne, Brigadier, who, being proscribed, is
now in France, with the three batalions of the Duke of Athol, the
batalion of the Duke of Perth, and some other troups under his
command, in order to support Cluny, and to bring off the
artilirie. But the action was entirely over before the Comte de
Nairne, with his command, cou'd reach nigh to the place. They
therefore return'd all to Penrith, and the artilirie marched up in
good order.

'Nor did the Duke of Comberland ever afterwards dare to come
within a day's march of the Prince and his army dureing the course
of all that retreat, which was conducted with great prudence and
safety when in some manner surrounded by enemies.'

NOTE 14, p. 215

As the heathen deities contracted an indelible obligation if they
swore by Styx, the Scottish Highlanders had usually some peculiar
solemnity attached to an oath which they intended should be
binding on them. Very frequently it consisted in laying their
hand, as they swore, on their own drawn dirk; which dagger,
becoming a party to the transaction, was invoked to punish any
breach of faith. But by whatever ritual the oath was sanctioned,
the party was extremely desirous to keep secret what the especial
oath was which he considered as irrevocable. This was a matter of
great convenience, as he felt no scruple in breaking his
asseveration when made in any other form than that which he
accounted as peculiarly solemn; and therefore readily granted any
engagement which bound him no longer than he inclined. Whereas, if
the oath which he accounted inviolable was once publicly known, no
party with whom he might have occasion to contract would have
rested satisfied with any other.

Louis XI of France practised the same sophistry, for he also had a
peculiar species of oath, the only one which he was ever known to
respect, and which, therefore, he was very unwilling to pledge.
The only engagement which that wily tyrant accounted binding upon
him was an oath by the Holy Cross of Saint Lo d'Angers, which
contained a portion of the True Cross. If he prevaricated after
taking this oath Louis believed he should die within the year. The
Constable Saint Paul, being invited to a personal conference with
Louis, refused to meet the king unless he would agree to ensure
him safe conduct under sanction of this oath. But, says Comines,
the king replied, he would never again pledge that engagement to
mortal man, though he was willing to take any other oath which
could be devised. The treaty broke oft, therefore, after much
chaffering concerning the nature of the vow which Louis was to
take. Such is the difference between the dictates of superstition
and those of conscience.





GLOSSARY


A', all.

ABOON, abune, above.

AE, one.

AFF, off.

AFORE, before.

AHINT, behind.

AIN, own.

AITS, oats.

AMAIST, almost.

AMBRY, a cupboard, a pantry.

AN, if.

ANE, one.

ANEUCH, enough.

ARRAY, annoy, trouble.

ASSOILZIED, absolved, acquitted.

ASSYTHMENT, satisfaction,

AULD, old.

BAFF, a blow.

BAGGANET, a bayonet.

BAILIE, a city magistrate in Scotland.

BAIRN, a child.

BAITH, both.

BANES, bones.

BANG-UP, get up quickly, bounce.

BARLEY, a parley, a truce.

BAULD, bold.

BAULDER, bolder.

BAWBEE, a halfpenny.

BAWTY, sly, cunning.

BEES, in the, bewildered, stupefied.

BEFLUMM'D, flattered, cajoled.

BEGUNK, a trick, a cheat.

BEN, within, inside.

BENEMPT, named.

BICKER, a wooden dish.

BIDE, stay, endure.

BIELDY, affording shelter.

BIGGING, building.

BIRLIEMAN, a peace officer.

BLACK-COCK, the black grouse.

BLACK-FISHING, ashing by torchlight, poaching.

BLUDE, bluid, blood.

BODDLE, bodle, a copper coin, worth one third of an English penny.

BOGLE ABOUT THE BUSH, beat about the bush, a children's game.

BONNIE, beautiful, comely, fine,

BOUNE, prepared.

BRA', fine, handsome, showy.

BRANDER, broil.

BREEKS, breeches.

BRENT, smooth, unwrinkled.

BROGUES, Highland shoes.

BROO, brew, broth.

BRUCKLE, brittle, infirm.

BRUIK, enjoy.

BRULZIE, bruilzie, a broil, a fray.

BUCKIE, a perverse or refractory person.

BUTTOCK-MAIL, a fine for fornication.

BYDAND, awaiting.

CA', call.

CADGER, a country carrier.

CAILLIACHS, old women on whom devolved the duty of lamenting for
the dead, which the Irish call keening.

CALLANT, a stripling, a fine fellow.

CANNILY, prudently.

CANNY, cautious, lucky.

CARLE, a churl, an old man.

CATERAN, a freebooter.

CHIEL, a young man.

CLACHAN, a village, a hamlet.

CLAMYHEWIT, a blow, a drubbing.

CLASH, chatter, gossip.

CLATTER, tattle, noisy talk.

CLOSE, a narrow passage.

CLOUR, a bump, a bruise.

COCKY-LEEKY, a soup made of a cock, seasoned with leeks.

COGHLING AND DROGHLING, wheezing and blowing.

CORONACH, a dirge.

CORRIE, a mountain hollow.

COUP, fall.

COW YER CRACKS, cut short your talk, hold your tongues.

CRACK, boast.

CRAIG, the neck, the throat.

CRAMES, merchants' shops, booths.

CUT-LUGGED, crop-eared.

DAFT, foolish, mad, crazy.

DAUR, dare.

DEAVING, deafening.

DECREET, an order of decree.

DELIVER, light, agile.

DERN, hidden, concealed, secret.

DING, knock, beat, surpass.

DINGLE, dinnle, tingle, vibrate with sound.

DOER, an agent, a manager.

DOG-HEAD, the hammer of a gun.

DOILED, crazed, silly.

DOITED, having the faculties impaired.

DORLACH, a bundle.

DOW, a dove.

DOWF, dowff, dull, spiritless.

DRAPPIE, a little drop, a small quantity of drink.

EFFEIR, what is becoming.

ENEUGH, enough.

ETTER-CAP, a spider, an ill-natured person.

EVITE, avoid, escape.

EWEST, ewast, contiguous.

FALLOW, a fellow.

FAULD, fold.

FEARED, afraid.

FECK, a quantity.

FLEYT, frightened, shy.

FRAE, from.

GAD, a goad, a rod.

GANE, gone; gang, go.

GAR, make.

GATE, way.

GAUN, going.

GEAR, goods.

GHAIST, a ghost.

GIN, if.

GITE, crazy, a noodle,

GLED, a kite.

GLEG, quick, clever.

GLISK, a glimpse.

GOWD, gold.

GRANING, groaning.

GRAT, wept.

GREE, agree.

GREYBEARD, a stone bottle or jug.

GRICE, gryce, gris, a pig.

GRIPPLE, griping, niggardly.

GUDE, guid, good.

GULPIN, a simpleton.

HA', hall.

HAG, a portion of copse marked off for cutting.

HAGGIS, a pudding peculiar to Scotland, containing oatmeal, suet,
minced sheep's liver, heart, etc., seasoned with onions, pepper,
and salt, the whole mixture boiled in a sheep's stomach.

HAIL, whole.

HECK, a hay rack; at heck and manger, in plenty.

HET, hot.

HOG, a young sheep before its first shearing.

HORSE-COUPER, horse-cowper, a horse-dealer.

HURDLES, the buttocks.

HURLEY-HOUSE, a large house fallen into disrepair.

 ILK, same; of that ilk, of the same name or place,

ILKA, every.

INGLE, a fire burning upon the hearth.

IN THE BEES, stupefied.

KEEPIT, kept.

KEMPLE, a Scotch measure of straw or hay.

KEN, know.

KIPPAGE, disorder, confusion.

KIRK, church.

KITTLE, tickle, ticklish.

LAIRD, lord of the manor.

LANDLOUPER, a wanderer, a vagabond.

LEDDY, a lady.

LIGHTLY, make light of, disparage.

LIMMER, a hussy, a jade.

LOON, a worthless fellow, a lout.

LOUP, leap, start.

LUG, an ear.

LUNZIE, the loins, the waist.

MAE, more.

MAINS, the chief farm of an estate.

MAIR, more.

MAIST, most, almost. MART, beef salted down for winter.

MASK, mash, infuse.

MAUN, must.

MERK, an old silver coin worth 13 1/3 pence, English.

MICKLE, large, much.

MORN, tomorrow.

MOUSTED, powdered.

MUCKLE, great, much.

MUNT, mount.

MUTCHKIN, a measure equal to about three quarters of an imperial
pint.

NA, nae, no, not.

NAIGS, horses.

NAIL, the sixteenth part of a yard.

NATHELESS, nevertheless.

NEB, nose, tip.

NE'ER BE IN ME, devil be in me.

OLD TO DO, great doings.

OWER, over.

PAITRICK, a partridge.

PANGED, crammed.

PARRITCH, oatmeal porridge.

PAUNIE, a peacock.

PECULIUM, private property.

PINNERS, a headdress for women.

PLACK, a copper coin worth one third of a penny.

PLAIDY, an outer covering for the body.

PLENISH, furnish.

PLOY, an entertainment, a pastime.

POTTINGER, an apothecary.

POWNIE, a pony.

POWTERING, poking, stirring.

PRETTY MAN, a stout, warlike fellow.

QUEAN, a young woman.

REDD, part, separate.

REISES, twigs, branches.

RESILING, retracting, withdrawing.

RIGGS, ridges, ploughed ground.

RINTHEROUT, a roving person, a vagabond.

ROW, roll.

ROWED, rolled.

ROWT, cried out, bellowed,

ROYNISH, scurvy, coarse.

SAE, so.

ST. JOHNSTONE'S TIPPET, a rope or halter for hanging.

SAIR, sore, very.

SALL, shall.

SARK, a shirt.

SAUMON, a salmon.

SAUT, salt.

SCARTED, scratched, scribbled over.

SCHELLUM, a rascal.

SCROLL, engross, copy.

SHANKS, legs.

SHEERS, shears.

SHOUTHER, the shoulder.

SICCAN, sic, such.

SILLER, money.

SILLY, weak.

SKIG, the least quantity of anything.

SMA', small.

SMOKY, suspicious.

SNECK, cut.

SORTED, put in proper order, adjusted.

SOWENS, the seeds of oatmeal soured.

SPEER, ask, investigate.

SPENCE, the place where provisions are kept.

SPRACK, lively.

SPRECHERY, movables of an unimportant sort.

SPUILZIE, spoil.

SPUNG, pick one's pocket.

STIEVE, firm.

STOOR, rough, harsh.

STRAE, straw.

STREEKS, stretches, lies.

SWAIR, swore.

SYNE, before, now, ago.

TAIGLIT, harassed, encumbered, loitered.

TAULD, told.

THAE, those.

THIR, these.

THOLE, bear, suffer.

THRAW, twist, wrench.

THREEPIT, maintained obstinately.

THROSTLE, the thrush.

TILL, to.

TIRRIVIES, hasty fits of passion,

TOCHERLESS, without dowry.

TOUN, a town, a hamlet, a farm.

TOY, an old-fashioned cap for women.

TREWS, trousers.

TRINDLING, rolling.

TROW, believe.

TUILZIE, a quarrel

TUME, toom, empty.

TURNSPIT DOGGIE, a kind of dog, long-bodied and short-legged,
formerly used in turning a treadmill.

TYKE, a dog, a rough fellow.

UMQUHILE, formerly, late.

UNCO, strange, very,

UNSONSY, unlucky.

USQUEBAUGH, whiskey.

VENY, venue, a bout.

VIVERS, victuals.

WA', wall

WAD, would.

WADSET, a deed conveying property to a creditor

WAIN, a wagon; to remove.

WALISE, a portmanteau, saddlebags.

WAN, won.

WANCHANCY, unlucky.

WARE, spend.

WEEL-FARD, weel-faur'd, having a good appearance.

WEISING, inclining, directing.

WHA, who.

WHAR, where,

WHAT FOR, why.

WHEEN, a few.

WHILE SYNE, a while ago.

WHILES, sometimes.

WHILK, which.

WHIN, a few.

WHINGEING, whining.

WINNA, will not.

WISKE, whisk.

YATE, gate.












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