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 dooi the
sentinel upon duty civilly, but resolutely, placed himself against
it and opposed his exit, accompanying his action with signs which
seemed to imply there was danger in the attempt and an enemy in
the neighbourhood. Old Janet appeared anxious and upon the watch;
and Waverley, who had not yet recovered strength enough to attempt
to take his departure in spite of the opposition of his hosts, was
under the necessity of remaining patient His fare was, in every
point of view, better than he could have conceived, for poultry,
and even wine, were no strangers to his table. The Highlanders
never presumed to eat with him, and, unless in the circumstance of
watching him, treated him with great respect. His sole amusement
was gazing from the window, or rather the shapeless aperture which
was meant to answer the purpose of a window, upon a large and
rough brook, which raged and foamed through a rocky channel,
closely canopied with trees and bushes, about ten feet beneath the
site of his house of captivity.
Upon the sixth day of his confinement Waverley found himself so
well that he began to meditate his escape from this dull and
miserable prison-house, thinking any risk which he might incur in
the attempt preferable to the stupefying and intolerable
uniformity of Janet's retirement. The question indeed occurred,
whither he was to direct his course when again at his own
disposal. Two schemes seemed practicable, yet both attended with
danger and difficulty. One was to go back to Glennaquoich and join
Fergus Mac-Ivor, by whom he was sure to be kindly received; and in
the present state of his mind, the rigour with which he had been
treated fully absolved him, in his own eyes, from his allegiance
to the existing government. The other project was to endeavour to
attain a Scottish seaport, and thence to take shipping for
England. His mind wavered between these plans, and probably, if he
had effected his escape in the manner he proposed, he would have
been finally determined by the comparative facility by which
either might have been executed. But his fortune had settled that
he was not to be left to his option.
Upon the evening of the seventh day the door of the hut suddenly
opened, and two Highlanders entered, whom Waverley recognised as
having been a part of his original escort to this cottage. They
conversed for a short time with the old man and his companion, and
then made Waverley understand, by very significant signs, that he
was to prepare to accompany them. This was a joyful communication.
What had already passed during his confinement made it evident
that no personal injury was designed to him; and his romantic
spirit, having recovered during his repose much of that elasticity
which anxiety, resentment, disappointment, and the mixture of
unpleasant feelings excited by his late adventures had for a time
subjugated, was now wearied with inaction. His passion for the
wonderful, although it is the nature of such dispositions to be
excited by that degree of danger which merely gives dignity to the
feeling of the individual exposed to it, had sunk under the
extraordinary and apparently insurmountable evils by which he
appeared environed at Cairnvreckan. In fact, this compound of
intense curiosity and exalted imagination forms a peculiar species
of courage, which somewhat resembles the light usually carried by
a miner - sufficiently competent, indeed, to afford him guidance
and comfort during the ordinary perils of his labour, but certain
to be extinguished should he encounter the more formidable hazard
of earth damps or pestiferous vapours. It was now, however, once
more rekindled, and with a throbbing mixture of hope, awe, and
anxiety, Waverley watched the group before him, as those who were
just arrived snatched a hasty meal, and the others assumed their
arms and made brief preparations for their departure.
As he sat in the smoky hut, at some distance from the fire, around
which the others were crowded, he felt a gentle pressure upon his
arm. He looked round; it was Alice, the daughter of Donald Bean
Lean. She showed him a packet of papers in such a manner that the
motion was remarked by no one else, put her finger for a second to
her lips, and passed on, as if to assist old Janet in packing
Waverley's clothes in his portmanteau. It was obviously her wish
that he should not seem to recognise her, yet she repeatedly
looked back at him, as an opportunity occurred of doing so
unobserved, and when she saw that he remarked what she did, she
folded the packet with great address and speed in one of his
shirts, which she deposited in the portmanteau.
Here then was fresh food for conjecture. Was Alice his unknown
warden, and was this maiden of the cavern the tutelar genius that
watched his bed during his sickness? Was he in the hands of her
father? and if so, what was his purpose? Spoil, his usual object,
seemed in this case neglected; for not only Waverley's property
was restored, but his purse, which might have tempted this
professional plunderer, had been all along suffered to remain in
his possession. All this perhaps the packet might explain; but it
was plain from Alice's manner that she desired he should consult
it in secret. Nor did she again seek his eye after she had
satisfied herself that her manoeuvre was observed and understood.
On the contrary, she shortly afterwards left the hut, and it was
only as she tript out from the door, that, favoured by the
obscurity, she gave Waverley a parting smile and nod of
significance ere she vanished in the dark glen.
The young Highlander was repeatedly despatched by his comrades as
if to collect intelligence. At length, when he had returned for
the third or fourth time, the whole party arose and made signs to
our hero to accompany them. Before his departure, however, he
shook hands with old Janet, who had been so sedulous in his
behalf, and added substantial marks of his gratitude for her
attendance.
'God bless you! God prosper you, Captain Waverley!' said Janet, in
good Lowland Scotch, though he had never hithero heard her utter a
syllable, save in Gaelic. But the impatience of his attendants
prohibited his asking any explanation.
CHAPTER 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