Waverley, Or 'Tis Sixty Years Hence, Complete
by
Sir Walter Scott
Part 10 out of 12
'Do you know what is become of Miss Bradwardine's father?'
'The auld laird? na, naebody kens that. But they say he fought very hard
in that bluidy battle at Inverness; and Deacon Clank, the whit-iron
smith, says that the government folk are sair agane him for having been
out twice; and troth he might hae ta'en warning, but there's nae Me like
an auld fule. The puir Colonel was only out ance.'
Such conversation contained almost all the good-natured widow knew of the
fate of her late lodgers and acquaintances; but it was enough to
determine Edward, at all hazards, to proceed instantly to Tully-Veolan,
where he concluded he should see, or at least hear, something of Rose. He
therefore left a letter for Colonel Talbot at the place agreed upon,
signed by his assumed name, and giving for his address the post-town next
to the Baron's residence.
From Edinburgh to Perth he took post-horses, resolving to make the rest
of his journey on foot; a mode of travelling to which he was partial, and
which had the advantage of permitting a deviation from the road when he
saw parties of military at a distance. His campaign had considerably
strengthened his constitution and improved his habits of enduring
fatigue. His baggage he sent before him as opportunity occurred.
As he advanced northward, the traces of war became visible. Broken
carriages, dead horses, unroofed cottages, trees felled for palisades,
and bridges destroyed or only partially repaired--all indicated the
movements of hostile armies. In those places where the gentry were
attached to the Stuart cause, their houses seemed dismantled or deserted,
the usual course of what may be called ornamental labour was totally
interrupted, and the inhabitants were seen gliding about, with fear,
sorrow, and dejection on their faces.
It was evening when he approached the village of Tully-Veolan, with
feelings and sentiments--how different from those which attended his
first entrance! Then, life was so new to him that a dull or disagreeable
day was one of the greatest misfortunes which his imagination
anticipated, and it seemed to him that his time ought only to be
consecrated to elegant or amusing study, and relieved by social or
youthful frolic. Now, how changed! how saddened, yet how elevated was his
character, within the course of a very few months! Danger and misfortune
are rapid, though severe teachers. 'A sadder and a wiser man,' he felt in
internal confidence and mental dignity a compensation for the gay dreams
which in his case experience had so rapidly dissolved.
As he approached the village he saw, with surprise and anxiety, that a
party of soldiers were quartered near it, and, what was worse, that they
seemed stationary there. This he conjectured from a few tents which he
beheld glimmering upon what was called the Common Moor. To avoid the risk
of being stopped and questioned in a place where he was so likely to be
recognised, he made a large circuit, altogether avoiding the hamlet, and
approaching the upper gate of the avenue by a by-path well known to him.
A single glance announced that great changes had taken place. One half of
the gate, entirely destroyed and split up for firewood, lay in piles,
ready to be taken away; the other swung uselessly about upon its loosened
hinges. The battlements above the gate were broken and thrown down, and
the carved bears, which were said to have done sentinel's duty upon the
top for centuries, now, hurled from their posts, lay among the rubbish.
The avenue was cruelly wasted. Several large trees were felled and left
lying across the path; and the cattle of the villagers, and the more rude
hoofs of dragoon horses, had poached into black mud the verdant turf
which Waverley had so much admired.
Upon entering the court-yard, Edward saw the fears realised which these
circumstances had excited. The place had been sacked by the King's
troops, who, in wanton mischief, had even attempted to burn it; and
though the thickness of the walls had resisted the fire, unless to a
partial extent, the stables and out-houses were totally consumed. The
towers and pinnacles of the main building were scorched and blackened;
the pavement of the court broken and shattered, the doors torn down
entirely, or hanging by a single hinge, the windows dashed in and
demolished, and the court strewed with articles of furniture broken into
fragments. The accessaries of ancient distinction, to which the Baron, in
the pride of his heart, had attached so much importance and veneration,
were treated with peculiar contumely. The fountain was demolished, and
the spring which had supplied it now flooded the court-yard. The stone
basin seemed to be destined for a drinking-trough for cattle, from the
manner in which it was arranged upon the ground. The whole tribe of
bears, large and small, had experienced as little favour as those at the
head of the avenue, and one or two of the family pictures, which seemed
to have served as targets for the soldiers, lay on the ground in tatters.
With an aching heart, as may well be imagined, Edward viewed this wreck
of a mansion so respected. But his anxiety to learn the fate of the
proprietors, and his fears as to what that fate might be, increased with
every step. When he entered upon the terrace new scenes of desolation
were visible. The balustrade was broken down, the walls destroyed, the
borders overgrown with weeds, and the fruit-trees cut down or grubbed up.
In one compartment of this old-fashioned garden were two immense
horse-chestnut trees, of whose size the Baron was particularly vain; too
lazy, perhaps, to cut them down, the spoilers, with malevolent ingenuity,
had mined them and placed a quantity of gunpowder in the cavity. One had
been shivered to pieces by the explosion, and the fragments lay scattered
around, encumbering the ground it had so long shadowed. The other mine
had been more partial in its effect. About one-fourth of the trunk of the
tree was torn from the mass, which, mutilated and defaced on the one
side, still spread on the other its ample and undiminished boughs.
[Footnote: A pair of chestnut trees, destroyed, the one entirely and the
other in part, by such a mischievous and wanton act of revenge, grew at
Invergarry Castle, the fastness of MacDonald of Glengarry.]
Amid these general marks of ravage, there were some which more
particularly addressed the feelings of Waverley. Viewing the front of the
building thus wasted and defaced, his eyes naturally sought the little
balcony which more properly belonged to Rose's apartment, her troisieme,
or rather cinquieme, etage. It was easily discovered, for beneath it lay
the stage-flowers and shrubs with which it was her pride to decorate it,
and which had been hurled from the bartizan; several of her books were
mingled with broken flower-pots and other remnants. Among these Waverley
distinguished one of his own, a small copy of Ariosto, and gathered it as
a treasure, though wasted by the wind and rain.
While, plunged in the sad reflections which the scene excited, he was
looking around for some one who might explain the fate of the
inhabitants, he heard a voice from the interior of the building singing,
in well-remembered accents, an old Scottish song:--
They came upon us in the night,
And brake my bower and slew my knight;
My servants a' for life did flee,
And left us in extremitie.
They slew my knight, to me sae dear;
They slew my knight, and drave his gear;
The moon may set, the sun may rise,
But a deadly sleep has closed his eyes.
[Footnote: The first three couplets are from an old ballad, called the
Border Widow's Lament.]
'Alas,' thought Edward, 'is it thou? Poor helpless being, art thou alone
left, to gibber and moan, and fill with thy wild and unconnected scraps
of minstrelsy the halls that protected thee?' He then called, first low,
and then louder, 'Davie--Davie Gellatley!'
The poor simpleton showed himself from among the ruins of a sort of
greenhouse, that once terminated what was called the terrace-walk, but at
first sight of a stranger retreated, as if in terror. Waverley,
remembering his habits, began to whistle a tune to which he was partial,
which Davie had expressed great pleasure in listening to, and had picked
up from him by the ear. Our hero's minstrelsy no more equalled that of
Blondel than poor Davie resembled Coeur de Lion; but the melody had the
same effect of producing recognition. Davie again stole from his
lurking-place, but timidly, while Waverley, afraid of frightening him,
stood making the most encouraging signals he could devise. 'It's his
ghaist,' muttered Davie; yet, coming nearer, he seemed to acknowledge his
living acquaintance. The poor fool himself appeared the ghost of what he
had been. The peculiar dress in which he had been attired in better days
showed only miserable rags of its whimsical finery, the lack of which was
oddly supplied by the remnants of tapestried hangings, window-curtains,
and shreds of pictures with which he had bedizened his tatters. His face,
too, had lost its vacant and careless air, and the poor creature looked
hollow-eyed, meagre, half-starved, and nervous to a pitiable degree.
After long hesitation, he at length approached Waverley with some
confidence, stared him sadly in the face, and said, 'A' dead and gane--a'
dead and gane.'
'Who are dead?' said Waverley, forgetting the incapacity of Davie to hold
any connected discourse.
'Baron, and Bailie, and Saunders Saunderson, and Lady Rose that sang sae
sweet--a' dead and gane--dead and gane;
But follow, follow me,
While glowworms light the lea,
I'll show ye where the dead should be--
Each in his shroud,
While winds pipe loud,
And the red moon peeps dim through the cloud.
Follow, follow me;
Brave should he be
That treads by night the dead man's lea.'
With these words, chanted in a wild and earnest tone, he made a sign to
Waverley to follow him, and walked rapidly towards the bottom of the
garden, tracing the bank of the stream which, it may be remembered, was
its eastern boundary. Edward, over whom an involuntary shuddering stole
at the import of his words, followed him in some hope of an explanation.
As the house was evidently deserted, he could not expect to find among
the ruins any more rational informer.
Davie, walking very fast, soon reached the extremity of the garden, and
scrambled over the ruins of the wall that once had divided it from the
wooded glen in which the old tower of Tully-Veolan was situated. He then
jumped down into the bed of the stream, and, followed by Waverley,
proceeded at a great pace, climbing over some fragments of rock and
turning with difficulty round others. They passed beneath the ruins of
the castle; Waverley followed, keeping up with his guide with difficulty,
for the twilight began to fall. Following the descent of the stream a
little lower, he totally lost him, but a twinkling light which he now
discovered among the tangled copse-wood and bushes seemed a surer guide.
He soon pursued a very uncouth path; and by its guidance at length
reached the door of a wretched hut. A fierce barking of dogs was at first
heard, but it stilled at his approach. A voice sounded from within, and
he held it most prudent to listen before he advanced.
'Wha hast thou brought here, thou unsonsy villain, thou?' said an old
woman, apparently in great indignation. He heard Davie Gellatley in
answer whistle a part of the tune by which he had recalled himself to the
simpleton's memory, and had now no hesitation to knock at the door. There
was a dead silence instantly within, except the deep growling of the
dogs; and he next heard the mistress of the hut approach the door, not
probably for the sake of undoing a latch, but of fastening a bolt. To
prevent this Waverley lifted the latch himself.
In front was an old wretched-looking woman, exclaiming, 'Wha comes into
folk's houses in this gate, at this time o' the night?' On one side, two
grim and half-starved deer greyhounds laid aside their ferocity at his
appearance, and seemed to recognise him. On the other side, half
concealed by the open door, yet apparently seeking that concealment
reluctantly, with a cocked pistol in his right hand and his left in the
act of drawing another from his belt, stood a tall bony gaunt figure in
the remnants of a faded uniform and a beard of three weeks' growth. It
was the Baron of Bradwardine. It is unnecessary to add, that he threw
aside his weapon and greeted Waverley with a hearty embrace.
CHAPTER XXXV
COMPARING OF NOTES
Thearon's story was short, when divested of the adages and commonplaces,
Latin, English, and Scotch, with which his erudition garnished it. He
insisted much upon his grief at the loss of Edward and of Glennaquoich,
fought the fields of Falkirk and Culloden, and related how, after all was
lost in the last battle, he had returned home, under the idea of more
easily finding shelter among his own tenants and on his own estate than
elsewhere. A party of soldiers had been sent to lay waste his property,
for clemency was not the order of the day. Their proceedings, however,
were checked by an order from the civil court. The estate, it was found,
might not be forfeited to the crown to the prejudice of Malcolm
Bradwardine of Inch-Grabbit, the heir-male, whose claim could not be
prejudiced by the Baron's attainder, as deriving no right through him,
and who, therefore, like other heirs of entail in the same situation,
entered upon possession. But, unlike many in similar circumstances, the
new laird speedily showed that he intended utterly to exclude his
predecessor from all benefit or advantage in the estate, and that it was
his purpose to avail himself of the old Baron's evil fortune to the full
extent. This was the more ungenerous, as it was generally known that,
from a romantic idea of not prejudicing this young man's right as
heir-male, the Baron had refrained from settling his estate on his
daughter.
This selfish injustice was resented by the country people, who were
partial to their old master, and irritated against his successor. In the
Baron's own words, 'The matter did not coincide with the feelings of the
commons of Bradwardine, Mr. Waverley; and the tenants were slack and
repugnant in payment of their mails and duties; and when my kinsman came
to the village wi' the new factor, Mr. James Howie, to lift the rents,
some wanchancy person--I suspect John Heatherblutter, the auld
gamekeeper, that was out wi' me in the year fifteen--fired a shot at him
in the gloaming, whereby he was so affrighted, that I may say with
Tullius In Catilinam, "Abiit, evasit, erupit, effugit." He fled, sir, as
one may say, incontinent to Stirling. And now he hath advertised the
estate for sale, being himself the last substitute in the entail. And if
I were to lament about sic matters, this would grieve me mair than its
passing from my immediate possession, whilk, by the course of nature,
must have happened in a few years; whereas now it passes from the lineage
that should have possessed it in scecula saculorum. But God's will be
done, humana perpessi sumus. Sir John of Bradwardine--Black Sir John, as
he is called--who was the common ancestor of our house and the
Inch-Grabbits, little thought such a person would have sprung from his
loins. Mean time, he has accused me to some of the primates, the rulers
for the time, as if I were a cut-throat, and an abettor of bravoes and
assassinates and coupe-jarrets. And they have sent soldiers here to abide
on the estate, and hunt me like a partridge upon the mountains, as
Scripture says of good King David, or like our valiant Sir William
Wallace--not that I bring myself into comparison with either. I thought,
when I heard you at the door, they had driven the auld deer to his den at
last; and so I e'en proposed to die at bay, like a buck of the first
head. But now, Janet, canna ye gie us something for supper?' 'Ou ay, sir,
I'll brander the moor-fowl that John Heatherblutter brought in this
morning; and ye see puir Davie's roasting the black hen's eggs. I daur
say, Mr. Wauverley, ye never kend that a' the eggs that were sae weel
roasted at supper in the Ha'-house were aye turned by our Davie? there's
no the like o' him ony gate for powtering wi' his fingers amang the het
peat-ashes and roasting eggs.' Davie all this while lay with his nose
almost in the fire, nuzzling among the ashes, kicking his heels, mumbling
to himself, turning the eggs as they lay in the hot embers, as if to
confute the proverb, that 'there goes reason to roasting of eggs,' and
justify the eulogium which poor Janet poured out upon
Him whom she loved, her idiot boy.
'Davie's no sae silly as folk tak him for, Mr. Wauverley; he wadna hae
brought you here unless he had kend ye was a friend to his Honour; indeed
the very dogs kend ye, Mr. Wauverley, for ye was aye kind to beast and
body. I can tell you a story o' Davie, wi' his Honour's leave. His
Honour, ye see, being under hiding in thae sair times--the mair's the
pity--he lies a' day, and whiles a' night, in the cove in the dern hag;
but though it's a bieldy eneugh bit, and the auld gudeman o' Corse-Cleugh
has panged it wi' a kemple o' strae amaist, yet when the country's quiet,
and the night very cauld, his Honour whiles creeps doun here to get a
warm at the ingle and a sleep amang the blankets, and gangs awa in the
morning. And so, ae morning, siccan a fright as I got! Twa unlucky
red-coats were up for black-fishing, or some siccan ploy--for the neb o'
them's never out o' mischief--and they just got a glisk o' his Honour as
he gaed into the wood, and banged aff a gun at him. I out like a
jer-falcon, and cried--"Wad they shoot an honest woman's poor innocent
bairn?" And I fleyt at them, and threepit it was my son; and they damned
and swuir at me that it was the auld rebel, as the villains ca'd his
Honour; and Davie was in the wood, and heard the tuilzie, and he, just
out o' his ain head, got up the auld grey mantle that his Honour had
flung off him to gang the faster, and he cam out o' the very same bit o'
the wood, majoring and looking about sae like his Honour, that they were
clean beguiled, and thought they had letten aff their gun at
crack-brained Sawney, as they ca' him; and they gae me saxpence, and twa
saumon fish, to say naething about it. Na, na, Davie's no just like other
folk, puir fallow; but he's no sae silly as folk tak him for. But, to be
sure, how can we do eneugh for his Honour, when we and ours have lived on
his ground this twa hundred years; and when he keepit my puir Jamie at
school and college, and even at the Ha'-house, till he gaed to a better
place; and when he saved me frae being ta'en to Perth as a witch--Lord
forgi'e them that would touch sic a puir silly auld body!--and has
maintained puir Davie at heck and manger maist feck o' his life?'
Waverley at length found an opportunity to interrupt Janet's narrative by
an inquiry after Miss Bradwardine.
'She's weel and safe, thank God! at the Duchran,' answered the Baron;
'the laird's distantly related to us, and more nearly to my chaplain, Mr.
Rubrick; and, though he be of Whig principles, yet he's not forgetful of
auld friendship at this time. The Bailie's doing what he can to save
something out of the wreck for puir Rose; but I doubt, I doubt, I shall
never see her again, for I maun lay my banes in some far country.'
'Hout na, your Honour,' said old Janet, 'ye were just as ill aff in the
feifteen, and got the bonnie baronie back, an' a'. And now the eggs is
ready, and the muir-cock's brandered, and there's ilk ane a trencher and
some saut, and the heel o' the white loaf that cam frae the Bailie's, and
there's plenty o' brandy in the greybeard that Luckie Maclearie sent
doun, and winna ye be suppered like princes?'
'I wish one Prince, at least, of our acquaintance may be no worse off,'
said the Baron to Waverley, who joined him in cordial hopes for the
safety of the unfortunate Chevalier.
They then began to talk of their future prospects. The Baron's plan was
very simple. It was, to escape to France, where, by the interest of his
old friends, he hoped to get some military employment, of which he still
conceived himself capable. He invited Waverley to go with him, a proposal
in which he acquiesced, providing the interest of Colonel Talbot should
fail in procuring his pardon. Tacitly he hoped the Baron would sanction
his addresses to Rose, and give him a right to assist him in his exile;
but he forbore to speak on this subject until his own fate should be
decided. They then talked of Glennaquoich, for whom the Baron expressed
great anxiety, although, he observed, he was 'the very Achilles of
Horatius Flaccus,--
Impiger, iracundus, inexorabilis, acer; which,' he continued, 'has been
thus rendered (vernacularly) by Struan Robertson:--
A fiery etter-cap, a fractious chiel,
As het as ginger, and as stieve as steel.'
Flora had a large and unqualified share of the good old man's sympathy.
It was now wearing late. Old Janet got into some kind of kennel behind
the hallan; Davie had been long asleep and snoring between Ban and
Buscar. These dogs had followed him to the hut after the mansion-house
was deserted, and there constantly resided; and their ferocity, with the
old woman's reputation of being a witch, contributed a good deal to keep
visitors from the glen. With this view, Bailie Macwheeble provided Janet
underhand with meal for their maintenance, and also with little articles
of luxury for his patron's use, in supplying which much precaution was
necessarily used. After some compliments, the Baron occupied his usual
couch, and Waverley reclined in an easy chair of tattered velvet, which
had once garnished the state bed-room of Tully-Veolan (for the furniture
of this mansion was now scattered through all the cottages in the
vicinity), and went to sleep as comfortably as if he had been in a bed of
down.
CHAPTER XXXVI
MORE EXPLANATION
With the first dawn of day, old Janet was scuttling about the house to
wake the Baron, who usually slept sound and heavily.
'I must go back,' he said to Waverley,'to my cove; will you walk down the
glen wi' me?' They went out together, and followed a narrow and entangled
foot-path, which the occasional passage of anglers or wood-cutters had
traced by the side of the stream. On their way the Baron explained to
Waverley that he would be under no danger in remaining a day or two at
Tully-Veolan, and even in being seen walking about, if he used the
precaution of pretending that he was looking at the estate as agent or
surveyor for an English gentleman who designed to be purchaser. With this
view he recommended to him to visit the Bailie, who still lived at the
factor's house, called Little Veolan, about a mile from the village,
though he was to remove at next term. Stanley's passport would be an
answer to the officer who commanded the military; and as to any of the
country people who might recognise Waverley, the Baron assured him he was
in no danger of being betrayed by them.
'I believe,' said the old man, 'half the people of the barony know that
their poor auld laird is somewhere hereabout; for I see they do not
suffer a single bairn to come here a bird-nesting; a practice whilk, when
I was in full possession of my power as baron, I was unable totally to
inhibit. Nay, I often find bits of things in my way, that the poor
bodies, God help them! leave there, because they think they may be useful
to me. I hope they will get a wiser master, and as kind a one as I was.'
A natural sigh closed the sentence; but the quiet equanimity with which
the Baron endured his misfortunes had something in it venerable and even
sublime. There was no fruitless repining, no turbid melancholy; he bore
his lot, and the hardships which it involved, with a good-humored, though
serious composure, and used no violent language against the prevailing
party.
'I did what I thought my duty,' said the good old man, 'and questionless
they are doing what they think theirs. It grieves me sometimes to look
upon these blackened walls of the house of my ancestors; but doubtless
officers cannot always keep the soldier's hand from depredation and
spuilzie, and Gustavus Adolphus himself, as ye may read in Colonel Munro
his "Expedition with the Worthy Scotch Regiment called Mackay's Regiment"
did often permit it. Indeed I have myself seen as sad sights as
Tully-Veolan now is when I served with the Marechal Duke of Berwick. To
be sure we may say with Virgilius Maro, Fuimus Troes--and there's the end
of an auld sang. But houses and families and men have a' stood lang
eneugh when they have stood till they fall with honour; and now I hae
gotten a house that is not unlike a domus ultima'--they were now standing
below a steep rock. 'We poor Jacobites,' continued the Baron, looking up,
'are now like the conies in Holy Scripture (which the great traveller
Pococke calleth Jerboa), a feeble people, that make our abode in the
rocks. So, fare you well, my good lad, till we meet at Janet's in the
even; for I must get into my Patmos, which is no easy matter for my auld
stiff limbs.'
With that he began to ascend the rock, striding, with the help of his
hands, from one precarious footstep to another, till he got about
half-way up, where two or three bushes concealed the mouth of a hole,
resembling an oven, into which the Baron insinuated, first his head and
shoulders, and then, by slow gradation, the rest of his l ong body; his
legs and feet finally disappearing, coiled up like a huge snake entering
his retreat, or a long pedigree introduced with care and difficulty into
the narrow pigeon-hole of an old cabinet. Waverley had the curiosity to
clamber up and look in upon him in his den, as the lurking-place might
well be termed. Upon the whole, he looked not unlike that ingenious
puzzle called 'a reel in a bottle,' the marvel of children (and of some
grown people too, myself for one), who can neither comprehend the
mysteryhowit has got in or how it is to be taken out. The cave was very
narrow, too low in the roof to admit of his standing, or almost of his
sitting up, though he made some awkward attempts at the latter posture.
His sole amusement was the perusal of his old friend Titus Livius, varied
by occasionally scratching Latin proverbs and texts of Scripture with his
knife on the roof and walls of his fortalice, which were of sandstone. As
the cave was dry, and filled with clean straw and withered fern, 'it
made,' as he said, coiling himself up with an air of snugness and comfort
which contrasted strangely with his situation, 'unless when the wind was
due north, a very passable gite for an old soldier.' Neither, as he
observed, was he without sentries for the purpose of reconnoitring. Davie
and his mother were constantly on the watch to discover and avert danger;
and it was singular what instances of address seemed dictated by the
instinctive attachment of the poor simpleton when his patron's safety was
concerned.
With Janet, Edward now sought an interview. He had recognised her at
first sight as the old woman who had nursed him during his sickness after
his delivery from Gifted Gilfillan. The hut also, although a little
repaired and somewhat better furnished, was certainly the place of his
confinement; and he now recollected on the common moor of Tully-Veolan
the trunk of a large decayed tree, called the try sting-tree, which he
had no doubt was the same at which the Highlanders rendezvoused on that
memorable night. All this he had combined in his imagination the night
before; but reasons which may probably occur to the reader prevented him
from catechising Janet in the presence of the Baron.
He now commenced the task in good earnest; and the first question was,
Who was the young lady that visited the hut during his illness? Janet
paused for a little; and then observed, that to keep the secret now would
neither do good nor ill to anybody.
' It was just a leddy that hasna her equal in the world--Miss Rose
Bradwardine!'
'Then Miss Rose was probably also the author of my deliverance,' inferred
Waverley, delighted at the confirmation of an idea which local
circumstances had already induced him to entertain.
'I wot weel, Mr. Wauverley, and that was she e'en; but sair, sair angry
and affronted wad she hae been, puir thing, if she had thought ye had
been ever to ken a word about the matter; for she gar'd me speak aye
Gaelic when ye was in hearing, to mak ye trow we were in the Hielands. I
can speak it weil eneugh, for my mother was a Hieland woman.'
A few more questions now brought out the whole mystery respecting
Waverley's deliverance from the bondage in which he left Cairnvreckan.
Never did music sound sweeter to an amateur than the drowsy tautology
with which old Janet detailed every circumstance thrilled upon the ears
of Waverley. But my reader is not a lover and I must spare his patience,
by attempting to condense within reasonable compass the narrative which
old Janet spread through a harangue of nearly two hours.
When Waverley communicated to Fergus the letter he had received from Rose
Bradwardine by Davie Gellatley, giving an account of Tully-Veolan being
occupied by a small party of soldiers, that circumstance had struck upon
the busy and active mind of the Chieftain. Eager to distress and narrow
the posts of the enemy, desirous to prevent their establishing a garrison
so near him, and willing also to oblige the Baron--for he often had the
idea of marriage with Rose floating through his brain--he resolved to
send some of his people to drive out the red-coats and to bring Rose to
Glennaquoich. But just as he had ordered Evan with a small party on this
duty, the news of Cope's having marched into the Highlands, to meet and
disperse the forces of the Chevalier ere they came to a head, obliged him
to join the standard with his whole forces.
He sent to order Donald Bean to attend him; but that cautious freebooter,
who well understood the value of a separate command, instead of joining,
sent various apologies which the pressure of the times compelled Fergus
to admit as current, though not without the internal resolution of being
revenged on him for his procrastination, time and place convenient.
However, as he could not amend the matter, he issued orders to Donald to
descend into the Low Country, drive the soldiers from Tully-Veolan, and,
paying all respect to the mansion of the Baron, to take his abode
somewhere near it, for protection of his daughter and family, and to
harass and drive away any of the armed volunteers or small parties of
military which he might find moving about the vicinity. As this charge
formed a sort of roving commission, which Donald proposed to interpret in
the way most advantageous to himself, as he was relieved from the
immediate terrors of Fergus, and as he had, from former secret services,
some interest in the councils of the Chevalier, he resolved to make hay
while the sun shone. He achieved without difficulty the task of driving
the soldiers from Tully-Veolan; but, although he did not venture to
encroach upon the interior of the family, or to disturb Miss Rose, being
unwilling to make himself a powerful enemy in the Chevalier's army,
For well he knew the Baron's wrath was deadly;
yet he set about to raise contributions and exactions upon the tenantry,
and otherwise to turn the war to his own advantage. Meanwhile he mounted
the white cockade, and waited upon Rose with a pretext of great devotion
for the service in which her father was engaged, and many apologies for
the freedom he must necessarily use for the support of his people. It was
at this moment that Rose learned, by open-mouthed fame, with all sorts of
exaggeration, that Waverley had killed the smith at Cairnvreckan, in an
attempt to arrest him; had been cast into a dungeon by Major Melville of
Cairnvreckan, and was to be executed by martial law within three days. In
the agony which these tidings excited she proposed to Donald Bean the
rescue of the prisoner. It was the very sort of service which he was
desirous to undertake, judging it might constitute a merit of such a
nature as would make amends for any peccadilloes which he might be guilty
of in the country. He had the art, however, pleading all the while duty
and discipline, to hold off, until poor Rose, in the extremity of her
distress, offered to bribe him to the enterprise with some valuable
jewels which had been her mother's.
Donald Bean, who had served in France, knew, and perhaps over-estimated,
the value of these trinkets. But he also perceived Rose's apprehensions
of its being discovered that she had parted with her jewels for
Waverley's liberation. Resolved this scruple should not part him and the
treasure, he voluntarily offered to take an oath that he would never
mention Miss Rose's share in the transaction; and, foreseeing convenience
in keeping the oath and no probable advantage in breaking it, he took the
engagement--in order, as he told his lieutenant, to deal handsomely by
the young lady--in the only mode and form which, by a mental paction with
himself, he considered as binding: he swore secrecy upon his drawn dirk.
He was the more especially moved to this act of good faith by some
attentions that Miss Bradwardine showed to his daughter Alice, which,
while they gained the heart of the mountain damsel, highly gratified the
pride of her father. Alice, who could now speak a little English, was
very communicative in return for Rose's kindness, readily confided to her
the whole papers respecting the intrigue with Gardiner's regiment, of
which she was the depositary, and as readily undertook, at her instance,
to restore them to Waverley without her father's knowledge. For 'they may
oblige the bonnie young lady and the handsome young gentleman,' said
Alice, 'and what use has my father for a whin bits o' scarted paper?'
The reader is aware that she took an opportunity of executing this
purpose on the eve of Waverley's leaving the glen.
How Donald executed his enterprise the reader is aware. But the expulsion
of the military from Tully-Veolan had given alarm, and while he was lying
in wait for Gilfillan, a strong party, such as Donald did not care to
face, was sent to drive back the insurgents in their turn, to encamp
there, and to protect the country. The officer, a gentleman and a
disciplinarian, neither intruded himself on Miss Bradwardine, whose
unprotected situation he respected, nor permitted his soldiers to commit
any breach of discipline. He formed a little camp upon an eminence near
the house of Tully-Veolan, and placed proper guards at the passes in the
vicinity. This unwelcome news reached Donald Bean Lean as he was
returning to Tully-Veolan. Determined, however, to obtain the guerdon of
his labour, he resolved, since approach to Tully-Veolan was impossible,
to deposit his prisoner in Janet's cottage, a place the very existence of
which could hardly have been suspected even by those who had long lived
in the vicinity, unless they had been guided thither, and which was
utterly unknown to Waverley himself. This effected, he claimed and
received his reward. Waverley's illness was an event which deranged all
their 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 XXXVII
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 XXXVIII
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' my bounden 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 XXXIX
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 XL
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 XLI
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 XLII
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.'
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