Waverley

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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 high road, 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 knell, 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 partisans, 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

The family 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, sang, 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, &c. &c. 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
one 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 horsewhip.

This lady was one of those active members of society who take upon them
FAIRE LE FRAIS DE 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.

'Oh, 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.'

'Oh 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 bag!'

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 'em. 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.

'Oh, 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 recognized 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 prevot-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?

It was 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, sat 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 sha'n'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
acknowledgements can ever pity, 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 footboy 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 on 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 connexions. 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 attention 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 freebooting
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 dare say, 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, [See Note 33.] which, it seems, constituted, in his
opinion, an inviolable obligation.'

'And what has 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, provided 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 bloodthirsty by nature. But it
exists at present, and you must therefore be kept out of the way in the
meantime.'

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.