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Waverley

S >> Sir Walter Scott >> Waverley




As these ideas pressed on Waverley's mind, he resolved to go upon
the open heath and search if, among the slain, he could discover
the body of his friend, with the pious intention of procuring for
him the last rites of sepulture. The timorous young man who
accompanied him remonstrated upon the danger of the attempt, but
Edward was determined. The followers of the camp had already
stripped the dead of all they could carry away; but the country
people, unused to scenes of blood, had not yet approached the
field of action, though some stood fearfully gazing at a distance.
About sixty or seventy dragoons lay slain within the first
enclosure, upon the highroad, and on the open moor. Of the
Highlanders, not above a dozen had fallen, chiefly those who,
venturing too far on the moor, could not regain the strong ground.
He could not find the body of Fergus among the slain. On a little
knoll, separated from the others, lay the carcasses of three
English dragoons, two horses, and the page Callum Beg, whose hard
skull a trooper's broadsword had, at length, effectually cloven.
It was possible his clan had carried off the body of Fergus; but
it was also possible he had escaped, especially as Evan Dhu, who
would never leave his Chief, was not found among the dead; or he
might be prisoner, and the less formidable denunciation inferred
from the appearance of the Bodach Glas might have proved the true
one. The approach of a party sent for the purpose of compelling
the country people to bury the dead, and who had already assembled
several peasants for that purpose, now obliged Edward to rejoin
his guide, who awaited him in great anxiety and fear under shade
of the plantations.

After leaving this field of death, the rest of their journey was
happily accomplished. At the house of Farmer Williams, Edward
passed for a young kinsman, educated for the church, who was come
to reside there till the civil tumults permitted him to pass
through the country. This silenced suspicion among the kind and
simple yeomanry of Cumberland, and accounted sufficiently for the
grave manners and retired habits of the new guest. The precaution
became more necessary than Waverley had anticipated, as a variety
of incidents prolonged his stay at Fasthwaite, as the farm was
called.

A tremendous fall of snow rendered his departure impossible for
more than ten days. When the roads began to become a little
practicable, they successively received news of the retreat of the
Chevalier into Scotland; then, that he had abandoned the
frontiers, retiring upon Glasgow; and that the Duke of Cumberland
had formed the siege of Carlisle. His army, therefore, cut off all
possibility of Waverley's escaping into Scotland in that
direction. On the eastern border Marshal Wade, with a large force,
was advancing upon Edinburgh; and all along the frontier, parties
of militia, volunteers, and partizans were in arms to suppress
insurrection, and apprehend such stragglers from the Highland army
as had been left in England. The surrender of Carlisle, and the
severity with which the rebel garrison were threatened, soon
formed an additional reason against venturing upon a solitary and
hopeless journey through a hostile country and a large army, to
carry the assistance of a single sword to a cause which seemed
altogether desperate. In this lonely and secluded situation,
without the advantage of company or conversation with men of
cultivated minds, the arguments of Colonel Talbot often recurred
to the mind of our hero. A still more anxious recollection haunted
his slumbers--it was the dying look and gesture of Colonel
Gardiner. Most devoutly did he hope, as the rarely occurring post
brought news of skirmishes with various success, that it might
never again be his lot to draw his sword in civil conflict. Then
his mind turned to the supposed death of Fergus, to the desolate
situation of Flora, and, with yet more tender recollection, to
that of Rose Bradwardine, who was destitute of the devoted
enthusiasm of loyalty, which to her friend hallowed and exalted
misfortune. These reveries he was permitted to enjoy, undisturbed
by queries or interruption; and it was in many a winter walk by
the shores of Ullswater that he acquired a more complete mastery
of a spirit tamed by adversity than his former experience had
given him; and that he felt himself entitled to say firmly, though
perhaps with a sigh, that the romance of his life was ended, and
that its real history had now commenced. He was soon called upon
to justify his pretensions by reason and philosophy.





CHAPTER LXI

A JOURNEY TO LONDON


Theamily at Fasthwaite were soon attached to Edward. He had,
indeed, that gentleness and urbanity which almost universally
attracts corresponding kindness; and to their simple ideas his
learning gave him consequence, and his sorrows interest. The last
he ascribed, evasively, to the loss of a brother in the skirmish
near Clifton; and in that primitive state of society, where the
ties of affection were highly deemed of, his continued depression
excited sympathy, but not surprise.

In the end of January his more lively powers were called out by
the happy union of Edward Williams, the son of his host, with
Cicely Jopson. Our hero would not cloud with sorrow the festivity
attending the wedding of two persons to whom he was so highly
obliged. He therefore exerted himself, danced, sung, played at the
various games of the day, and was the blithest of the company. The
next morning, however, he had more serious matters to think of.

The clergyman who had married the young couple was so much pleased
with the supposed student of divinity, that he came next day from
Penrith on purpose to pay him a visit. This might have been a
puzzling chapter had he entered into any examination of our hero's
supposed theological studies; but fortunately he loved better to
hear and communicate the news of the day. He brought with him two
or three old newspapers, in one of which Edward found a piece of
intelligence that soon rendered him deaf to every word which the
Reverend Mr. Twigtythe was saying upon the news from the north,
and the prospect of the Duke's speedily overtaking and crushing
the rebels. This was an article in these, or nearly these words:--

'Died at his house, in Hill Street, Berkeley Square, upon the 10th
inst., Richard Waverley, Esq., second son of Sir Giles Waverley of
Waverley-Honour, etc. etc. He died of a lingering disorder,
augmented by the unpleasant predicament of suspicion in which he
stood, having been obliged to find bail to a high amount to meet
an impending accusation of high-treason. An accusation of the same
grave crime hangs over his elder brother, Sir Everard Waverley,
the representative of that ancient family; and we understand the
day of his trial will be fixed early in the next month, unless
Edward Waverley, son of the deceased Richard, and heir to the
Baronet, shall surrender himself to justice. In that case we are
assured it is his Majesty's gracious purpose to drop further
proceedings upon the charge against Sir Everard. This unfortunate
young gentleman is ascertained to have been in arms in the
Pretender's service, and to have marched along with the Highland
troops into England. But he has not been heard of since the
skirmish at Clifton, on the 18th December last.'

Such was this distracting paragraph. 'Good God!' exclaimed
Waverley, 'am I then a parricide? Impossible! My father, who never
showed the affection of a father while he lived, cannot have been
so much affected by my supposed death as to hasten his own; no, I
will not believe it, it were distraction to entertain for a moment
such a horrible idea. But it were, if possible, worse than
parricide to suffer any danger to hang over my noble and generous
uncle, who has ever been more to me than a father, if such evil
can be averted by any sacrifice on my part!'

While these reflections passed like the stings of scorpions
through Waverley's sensorium, the worthy divine was startled in a
long disquisition on the battle of Falkirk by the ghastliness
which they communicated to his looks, and asked him if he was ill?
Fortunately the bride, all smirk and blush, had just entered the
room. Mrs. Williams was none of the brightest of women, but she
was good-natured, and readily concluding that Edward had been
shocked by disagreeable news in the papers, interfered so
judiciously, that, without exciting suspicion, she drew off Mr.
Twigtythe's attention, and engaged it until he soon after took his
leave. Waverley then explained to his friends that he was under
the necessity of going to London with as little delay as possible.

One cause of delay, however, did occur, to which Waverley had been
very little accustomed. His purse, though well stocked when he
first went to Tully-Veolan, had not been reinforced since that
period; and although his life since had not been of a nature to
exhaust it hastily, for he had lived chiefly with his friends or
with the army, yet he found that, after settling with his kind
landlord, he should be too poor to encounter the expense of
travelling post. The best course, therefore, seemed to be to get
into the great north road about Boroughbridge, and there take a
place in the northern diligence, a huge old-fashioned tub, drawn
by three horses, which completed the journey from Edinburgh to
London (God willing, as the advertisement expressed it) in three
weeks. Our hero, therefore, took an affectionate farewell of his
Cumberland friends, whose kindness he promised never to forget,
and tacitly hoped ene day to acknowledge by substantial proofs of
gratitude. After some petty difficulties and vexatious delays, and
after putting his dress into a shape better befitting his rank,
though perfectly plain and simple, he accomplished crossing the
country, and found himself in the desired vehicle vis-a-vis to
Mrs. Nosebag, the lady of Lieutenant Nosebag, adjutant and riding-
master of the--dragoons, a jolly woman of about fifty, wearing a
blue habit, faced with scarlet, and grasping a silver-mounted
horse-whip.

This lady was one of those active members of society who take upon
them faire lefrais de la conversation. She had just returned from
the north, and informed Edward how nearly her regiment had cut the
petticoat people into ribands at Falkirk, 'only somehow there was
one of those nasty, awkward marshes, that they are never without
in Scotland, I think, and so our poor dear little regiment
suffered something, as my Nosebag says, in that unsatisfactory
affair. You, sir, have served in the dragoons?' Waverley was taken
so much at unawares that he acquiesced.

'O, I knew it at once; I saw you were military from your air, and
I was sure you could be none of the foot-wobblers, as my Nosebag
calls them. What regiment, pray?' Here was a delightful question.
Waverley, however, justly concluded that this good lady had the
whole army-list by heart; and, to avoid detection by adhering to
truth, answered, 'Gardiner's dragoons, ma'am; but I have retired
some time.'

'O aye, those as won the race at the battle of Preston, as my
Nosebag says. Pray, sir, were you there?'

'I was so unfortunate, madam,' he replied, 'as to witness that
engagement.'

'And that was a misfortune that few of Gardiner's stood to
witness, I believe, sir--ha! ha! ha! I beg your pardon; but a
soldier's wife loves a joke.'

'Devil confound you,' thought Waverley: 'what infernal luck has
penned me up with this inquisitive hag!'

Fortunately the good lady did not stick long to one subject. 'We
are coming to Ferrybridge now,' she said, 'where there was a party
of OURS left to support the beadles, and constables, and justices,
and these sort of creatures that are examining papers and stopping
rebels, and all that.' They were hardly in the inn before she
dragged Waverley to the window, exclaiming, 'Yonder comes Corporal
Bridoon, of our poor dear troop; he's coming with the constable
man. Bridoon's one of my lambs, as Nosebag calls 'ern. Come, Mr.--
a--a--pray, what's your name, sir?'

'Butler, ma'am,' said Waverley, resolved rather to make free with
the name of a former fellow-officer than run the risk of detection
by inventing one not to be found in the regiment.

'O, you got a troop lately, when that shabby fellow, Waverley,
went over to the rebels? Lord, I wish our old cross Captain Crump
would go over to the rebels, that Nosebag might get the troop!
Lord, what can Bridoon be standing swinging on the bridge for?
I'll be hanged if he a'nt hazy, as Nosebag says. Come, sir, as you
and I belong to the service, we'll go put the rascal in mind of
his duty.'

Waverley, with feelings more easily conceived than described, saw
himself obliged to follow this doughty female commander. The
gallant trooper was as like a lamb as a drunk corporal of
dragoons, about six feet high, with very broad shoulders, and very
thin legs, not to mention a great scar across his nose, could well
be. Mrs. Nosebag addressed him with something which, if not an
oath, sounded very like one, and commanded him to attend to his
duty. 'You be d--d for a----,' commenced the gallant cavalier; but,
looking up in order to suit the action to the words, and also to
enforce the epithet which he meditated with an adjective
applicable to the party, he recognised the speaker, made his
military salaam, and altered his tone. 'Lord love your handsome
face, Madam Nosebag, is it you? Why, if a poor fellow does happen
to fire a slug of a morning, I am sure you were never the lady to
bring him to harm.'

'Well, you rascallion, go, mind your duty; this gentleman and I
belong to the service; but be sure you look after that shy cock in
the slouched hat that sits in the corner of the coach. I believe
he's one of the rebels in disguise.'

'D--n her gooseberry wig,' said the corporal, when she was out of
hearing, 'that gimlet-eyed jade--mother adjutant, as we call her
--is a greater plague to the regiment than provost-marshal,
sergeant-major, and old Hubble-de-Shuff, the colonel, into the
bargain. Come, Master Constable, let's see if this shy cock, as
she calls him (who, by the way, was a Quaker from Leeds, with whom
Mrs. Nosebag had had some tart argument on the legality of bearing
arms), will stand godfather to a sup of brandy, for your Yorkshire
ale is cold on my stomach.'

The vivacity of this good lady, as it helped Edward out of this
scrape, was like to have drawn him into one or two others. In
every town where they stopped she wished to examine the corps de
garde, if there was one, and once very narrowly missed introducing
Waverley to a recruiting-sergeant of his own regiment. Then she
Captain'd and Butler'd him till he was almost mad with vexation
and anxiety; and never was he more rejoiced in his life at the
termination of a journey than when the arrival of the coach in
London freed him from the attentions of Madam Nosebag.





CHAPTER LXII

WHAT'S TO BE DONE NEXT?


Itwas twilight when they arrived in town; and having shaken off
his companions, and walked through a good many streets to avoid
the possibility of being traced by them, Edward took a hackney-
coach and drove to Colonel Talbot's house, in one of the principal
squares at the west end of the town. That gentleman, by the death
of relations, had succeeded since his marriage to a large fortune,
possessed considerable political interest, and lived in what is
called great style.

When Waverley knocked at his door he found it at first difficult
to procure admittance, but at length was shown into an apartment
where the Colonel was at table. Lady Emily, whose very beautiful
features were still pallid from indisposition, sate opposite to
him. The instant he heard Waverley's voice, he started up and
embraced him. 'Frank Stanley, my dear boy, how d'ye do? Emily, my
love, this is young Stanley.'

The blood started to the lady's cheek as she gave Waverley a
reception in which courtesy was mingled with kindness, while her
trembling hand and faltering voice showed how much she was
startled and discomposed. Dinner was hastily replaced, and while
Waverley was engaged in refreshing himself, the Colonel proceeded
--'I wonder you have come here, Frank; the Doctors tell me the air
of London is very bad for your complaints. You should not have
risked it. But I am delighted to see you, and so is Emily, though
I fear we must not reckon upon your staying long.'

'Some particular business brought me up,' muttered Waverley.

'I supposed so, but I shan't allow you to stay long. Spontoon' (to
an elderly military-looking servant out of livery),'take away
these things, and answer the bell yourself, if I ring. Don't let
any of the other fellows disturb us. My nephew and I have business
to talk of.'

When the servants had retired, 'In the name of God, Waverley, what
has brought you here? It may be as much as your life is worth.'

'Dear Mr. Waverley,' said Lady Emily, 'to whom I owe so much more
than acknowledgments can ever pay, how could you be so rash?'

'My father--my uncle--this paragraph,'--he handed the paper to
Colonel Talbot.

'I wish to Heaven these scoundrels were condemned to be squeezed
to death in their own presses,' said Talbot. 'I am told there are
not less than a dozen of their papers now published in town, and
no wonder that they are obliged to invent lies to find sale for
their journals. It is true, however, my dear Edward, that you have
lost your father; but as to this flourish of his unpleasant
situation having grated upon his spirits and hurt his health--the
truth is--for though it is harsh to say so now, yet it will
relieve your mind from the idea of weighty responsibility--the
truth then is, that Mr. Richard Waverley, through this whole
business, showed great want of sensibility, both to your situation
and that of your uncle; and the last time I saw him, he told me,
with great glee, that, as I was so good as to take charge of your
interests, he had thought it best to patch up a separate
negotiation for himself, and make his peace with government
through some channels which former connexions left still open to
him.'

'And my uncle, my dear uncle?'

'Is in no danger whatever. It is true (looking at the date of the
paper) there was a foolish report some time ago to the purport
here quoted, but it is entirely false. Sir Everard is gone down to
Waverley-Honour, freed from all uneasiness, unless upon your own
account. But you are in peril yourself; your name is in every
proclamation; warrants are out to apprehend you. How and when did
you come here?'

Edward told his story at length, suppressing his quarrel with
Fergus; for, being himself partial to Highlanders, he did not wish
to give any advantage to the Colonel's national prejudice against
them.

'Are you sure it was your friend Glen's foot-boy you saw dead in
Clifton Moor?'

'Quite positive.'

'Then that little limb of the devil has cheated the gallows, for
cut-throat was written in his face; though (turning to Lady Emily)
it was a very handsome face too. But for you, Edward, I wish you
would go down again to Cumberland, or rather I wish you had never
stirred from thence, for there is an embargo in all the seaports,
and a strict search for the adherents of the Pretender; and the
tongue of that confounded woman will wag in her head like the
clack of a mill, till somehow or other she will detect Captain
Butler to be a feigned personage.'

'Do you know anything,' asked Waverley, 'of my fellow-traveller?'

'Her husband was my sergeant-major for six years; she was a buxom
widow, with a little money; he married her, was steady, and got on
by being a good drill. I must send Spontoon to see what she is
about; he will find her out among the old regimental connections.
To-morrow you must be indisposed, and keep your room from fatigue.
Lady Emily is to be your nurse, and Spontoon and I your
attendants. You bear the name of a near relation of mine, whom
none of my present people ever saw, except Spontoon, so there will
be no immediate danger. So pray feel your head ache and your eyes
grow heavy as soon as possible, that you may be put upon the sick-
list; and, Emily, do you order an apartment for Frank Stanley,
with all the attentions which an invalid may require.'

In the morning the Colonel visited his guest. 'Now,' said he, 'I
have some good news for you. Your reputation as a gentleman and
officer is effectually cleared of neglect of duty and accession to
the mutiny in Gardiner's regiment. I have had a correspondence on
this subject with a very zealous friend of yours, your Scottish
parson, Morton; his first letter was addressed to Sir Everard; but
I relieved the good Baronet of the trouble of answering it. You
must know, that your free-booting acquaintance, Donald of the
Cave, has at length fallen into the hands of the Philistines. He
was driving off the cattle of a certain proprietor, called Killan
--something or other--'

'Killancureit?'

'The same. Now the gentleman being, it seems, a great farmer, and
having a special value for his breed of cattle, being, moreover,
rather of a timid disposition, had got a party of soldiers to
protect his property. So Donald ran his head unawares into the
lion's mouth, and was defeated and made prisoner. Being ordered
for execution, his conscience was assailed on the one hand by a
Catholic priest, on the other by your friend Morton. He repulsed
the Catholic chiefly on account of the doctrine of extreme
unction, which this economical gentleman considered as an
excessive waste of oil. So his conversion from a state of
impenitence fell to Mr. Morton's share, who, I daresay, acquitted
himself excellently, though I suppose Donald made but a queer kind
of Christian after all. He confessed, however, before a
magistrate, one Major Melville, who seems to have been a correct,
friendly sort of person, his full intrigue with Houghton,
explaining particularly how it was carried on, and fully
acquitting you of the least accession to it. He also mentioned his
rescuing you from the hands of the volunteer officer, and sending
you, by orders of the Pret--Chevalier, I mean--as a prisoner to
Doune, from whence he understood you were carried prisoner to
Edinburgh. These are particulars which cannot but tell in your
favour. He hinted that he had been employed to deliver and protect
you, and rewarded for doing so; but he would not confess by whom,
alleging that, though he would not have minded breaking any
ordinary oath to satisfy the curiosity of Mr. Morton, to whose
pious admonitions he owed so much, yet, in the present case he had
been sworn to silence upon the edge of his dirk, [Footnote: See
Note 14.] which, it seems, constituted, in his opinion, an
inviolable obligation.'

'And what is become of him?'

'Oh, he was hanged at Stirling after the rebels raised the siege,
with his lieutenant and four plaids besides; he having the
advantage of a gallows more lofty than his friends.'

'Well, I have little cause either to regret or rejoice at his
death; and yet he has done me both good and harm to a very
considerable extent.'

'His confession, at least, will serve you materially, since it
wipes from your character all those suspicions which gave the
accusation against you a complexion of a nature different from
that with which so many unfortunate gentlemen, now or lately in
arms against the government, may be justly charged. Their treason
--I must give it its name, though you participate in its guilt--is
an action arising from mistaken virtue, and therefore cannot be
classed as a disgrace, though it be doubtless highly criminal.
Where the guilty are so numerous, clemency must be extended to far
the greater number; and I have little doubt of procuring a
remission for you, providing we can keep you out of the claws of
justice till she has selected and gorged upon her victims; for in
this, as in other cases, it will be according to the vulgar
proverb, "First come, first served." Besides, government are
desirous at present to intimidate the English Jacobites, among
whom they can find few examples for punishment. This is a
vindictive and timid feeling which will soon wear off, for of all
nations the English are least blood-thirsty by nature. But it
exists at present, and you must therefore be kept out of the way
in the mean-time.'

Now entered Spontoon with an anxious countenance. By his
regimental acquaintances he had traced out Madam Nosebag, and
found her full of ire, fuss, and fidget at discovery of an
impostor who had travelled from the north with her under the
assumed name of Captain Butler of Gardiner's dragoons. She was
going to lodge an information on the subject, to have him sought
for as an emissary of the Pretender; but Spontoon (an old
soldier), while he pretended to approve, contrived to make her
delay her intention. No time, however, was to be lost: the
accuracy of this good dame's description might probably lead to
the discovery that Waverley was the pretended Captain Butler, an
identification fraught with danger to Edward, perhaps to his
uncle, and even to Colonel Talbot. Which way to direct his course
was now, therefore, the question.

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