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