Lang Andrew
Waverley; Or, 'Tis Sixty Years Since
CHAPTER VII
THE ENGLISH PRISONER
The first occupation of Waverley, after he departed from the Chieftain, was to go in quest of the officer whose life he had saved. He was guarded, along with his companions in misfortune, who were very numerous, in a gentleman’s house near the field of battle.
On entering the room where they stood crowded together, Waverley easily recognised the object of his visit, not only by the peculiar dignity of his appearance, but by the appendage of Dugald Mahony, with his battleaxe, who had stuck to him from the moment of his captivity as if he had been skewered to his side. This close attendance was perhaps for the purpose of securing his promised reward from Edward, but it also operated to save the English gentleman from being plundered in the scene of general confusion; for Dugald sagaciously argued that the amount of the salvage which he might be allowed would be regulated by the state of the prisoner when he should deliver him over to Waverley. He hastened to assure Waverley, therefore, with more words than he usually employed, that he had ‘keepit ta sidier roy haill, and that he wasna a plack the waur since the fery moment when his honour forbad her to gie him a bit clamhewit wi’ her Lochaber-axe.’
Waverley assured Dugald of a liberal recompense, and, approaching the English officer, expressed his anxiety to do anything which might contribute to his convenience under his present unpleasant circumstances.
‘I am not so inexperienced a soldier, sir,’ answered the Englishman, ‘as to complain of the fortune of war. I am only grieved to see those scenes acted in our own island which I have often witnessed elsewhere with comparative indifference.’
‘Another such day as this,’ said Waverley, ‘and I trust the cause of your regrets will be removed, and all will again return to peace and order.’
The officer smiled and shook his head. ‘I must not forget my situation so far as to attempt a formal confutation of that opinion; but, notwithstanding your success and the valour which achieved it, you have undertaken a task to which your strength appears wholly inadequate.’
At this moment Fergus pushed into the press.
‘Come, Edward, come along; the Prince has gone to Pinkie House for the night; and we must follow, or lose the whole ceremony of the caligae. Your friend, the Baron, has been guilty of a great piece of cruelty; he has insisted upon dragging Bailie Macwheeble out to the field of battle. Now, you must know, the Bailie’s greatest horror is an armed Highlander or a loaded gun; and there he stands, listening to the Baron’s instructions concerning the protest, ducking his head like a sea-gull at the report of every gun and pistol that our idle boys are firing upon the fields, and undergoing, by way of penance, at every symptom of flinching a severe rebuke from his patron, who would not admit the discharge of a whole battery of cannon, within point-blank distance, as an apology for neglecting a discourse in which the honour of his family is interested.’
‘But how has Mr. Bradwardine got him to venture so far?’ said Edward.
‘Why, he had come as far as Musselburgh, I fancy, in hopes of making some of our wills; and the peremptory commands of the Baron dragged him forward to Preston after the battle was over. He complains of one or two of our ragamuffins having put him in peril of his life by presenting their pieces at him; but as they limited his ransom to an English penny, I don’t think we need trouble the provost-marshal upon that subject. So come along, Waverley.’
‘Waverley!’ said the English officer, with great emotion;’ the nephew of Sir Everard Waverley, of – shire?’
‘The same, sir,’ replied our hero, somewhat surprised at the tone in which he was addressed.
‘I am at once happy and grieved,’ said the prisoner, ‘to have met with you.’
‘I am ignorant, sir,’ answered Waverley, ‘how I have deserved so much interest.’
‘Did your uncle never mention a friend called Talbot?’
‘I have heard him talk with great regard of such a person,’ replied Edward; ‘a colonel, I believe, in the army, and the husband of Lady Emily Blandeville; but I thought Colonel Talbot had been abroad.’
‘I am just returned,’ answered the officer; ‘and being in Scotland, thought it my duty to act where my services promised to be useful. Yes, Mr. Waverley, I am that Colonel Talbot, the husband of the lady you have named; and I am proud to acknowledge that I owe alike my professional rank and my domestic happiness to your generous and noble-minded relative. Good God! that I should find his nephew in such a dress, and engaged in such a cause!’
‘Sir,’ said Fergus, haughtily, ‘the dress and cause are those of men of birth and honour.’
‘My situation forbids me to dispute your assertion,’ said Colonel Talbot; ‘otherwise it were no difficult matter to show that neither courage nor pride of lineage can gild a bad cause. But, with Mr. Waverley’s permission and yours, sir, if yours also must be asked, I would willingly speak a few words with him on affairs connected with his own family.’
‘Mr. Waverley, sir, regulates his own motions. You will follow me, I suppose, to Pinkie,’ said Fergus, turning to Edward, ‘when you have finished your discourse with this new acquaintance?’ So saying, the Chief of Glennaquoich adjusted his plaid with rather more than his usual air of haughty assumption and left the apartment.
The interest of Waverley readily procured for Colonel Talbot the freedom of adjourning to a large garden belonging to his place of confinement. They walked a few paces in silence, Colonel Talbot apparently studying how to open what he had to say; at length he addressed Edward.
‘Mr. Waverley, you have this day saved my life; and yet I would to God that I had lost it, ere I had found you wearing the uniform and cockade of these men.’
‘I forgive your reproach, Colonel Talbot; it is well meant, and your education and prejudices render it natural. But there is nothing extraordinary in finding a man whose honour has been publicly and unjustly assailed in the situation which promised most fair to afford him satisfaction on his calumniators.’
‘I should rather say, in the situation most likely to confirm the reports which they have circulated,’ said Colonel Talbot, ‘by following the very line of conduct ascribed to you. Are you aware, Mr. Waverley, of the infinite distress, and even danger, which your present conduct has occasioned to your nearest relatives?’
‘Danger!’
‘Yes, sir, danger. When I left England your uncle and father had been obliged to find bail to answer a charge of treason, to which they were only admitted by the exertion of the most powerful interest. I came down to Scotland with the sole purpose of rescuing you from the gulf into which you have precipitated yourself; nor can I estimate the consequences to your family of your having openly joined the rebellion, since the very suspicion of your intention was so perilous to them. Most deeply do I regret that I did not meet you before this last and fatal error.’
‘I am really ignorant,’ said Waverley, in a tone of reserve, ‘why Colonel Talbot should have taken so much trouble on my account.’
‘Mr. Waverley,’ answered Talbot, ‘I am dull at apprehending irony; and therefore I shall answer your words according to their plain meaning. I am indebted to your uncle for benefits greater than those which a son owes to a father. I acknowledge to him the duty of a son; and as I know there is no manner in which I can requite his kindness so well as by serving you, I will serve you, if possible, whether you will permit me or no. The personal obligation which you have this day laid me under (although, in common estimation, as great as one human being can bestow on another) adds nothing to my zeal on your behalf; nor can that zeal be abated by any coolness with which you may please to receive it.’
‘Your intentions may be kind, sir,’ said Waverley, drily; ‘but your language is harsh, or at least peremptory.’
‘On my return to England,’ continued Colonel Talbot, ‘after long absence, I found your uncle, Sir Everard Waverley, in the custody of a king’s messenger, in consequence of the suspicion brought upon him by your conduct. He is my oldest friend – how often shall I repeat it? – my best benefactor! he sacrificed his own views of happiness to mine; he never uttered a word, he never harboured a thought, that benevolence itself might not have thought or spoken. I found this man in confinement, rendered harsher to him by his habits of life, his natural dignity of feeling, and – forgive me, Mr. Waverley – by the cause through which this calamity had come upon him. I cannot disguise from you my feelings upon this occasion; they were most painfully unfavorable to you. Having by my family interest, which you probably know is not inconsiderable, succeeded in obtaining Sir Everard’s release, I set out for Scotland. I saw Colonel Gardiner, a man whose fate alone is sufficient to render this insurrection for ever execrable. In the course of conversation with him I found that, from late circumstances, from a reexamination of the persons engaged in the mutiny, and from his original good opinion of your character, he was much softened towards you; and I doubted not that, if I could be so fortunate as to discover you, all might yet be well. But this unnatural rebellion has ruined all. I have, for the first time in a long and active military life, seen Britons disgrace themselves by a panic flight, and that before a foe without either arms or discipline. And now I find the heir of my dearest friend – the son, I may say, of his affections – sharing a triumph for which he ought the first to have blushed. Why should I lament Gardiner? his lot was happy compared to mine!’
There was so much dignity in Colonel Talbot’s manner, such a mixture of military pride and manly sorrow, and the news of Sir Everard’s imprisonment was told in so deep a tone of feeling, that Edward stood mortified, abashed, and distressed in presence of the prisoner who owed to him his life not many hours before. He was not sorry when Fergus interrupted their conference a second time.
‘His Royal Highness commands Mr. Waverley’s attendance.’ Colonel Talbot threw upon Edward a reproachful glance, which did not escape the quick eye of the Highland Chief. ‘His immediate attendance,’ he repeated, with considerable emphasis. Waverley turned again towards the Colonel.
‘We shall meet again,’ he said; ‘in the meanwhile, every possible accommodation – ’
‘I desire none,’ said the Colonel; ‘let me fare like the meanest of those brave men who, on this day of calamity, have preferred wounds and captivity to flight; I would almost exchange places with one of those who have fallen to know that my words have made a suitable impression on your mind.’
‘Let Colonel Talbot be carefully secured,’ said Fergus to the Highland officer who commanded the guard over the prisoners; ‘it is the Prince’s particular command; he is a prisoner of the utmost importance.’
‘But let him want no accommodation suitable to his rank,’ said Waverley. ‘Consistent always with secure custody,’ reiterated Fergus. The officer signified his acquiescence in both commands, and Edward followed Fergus to the garden-gate, where Callum Beg, with three saddle-horses, awaited them. Turning his head, he saw Colonel Talbot reconducted to his place of confinement by a file of Highlanders; he lingered on the threshold of the door and made a signal with his hand towards Waverley, as if enforcing the language he had held towards him.
‘Horses,’ said Fergus, as he mounted, ‘are now as plenty as blackberries; every man may have them for the catching. Come, let Callum adjust your stirrups and let us to Pinkie House [Footnote: Charles Edward took up his quarters after the battle at Pinkie House, adjoining to Musselburgh.] as fast as these ci-devant dragoon-horses choose to carry us.’
CHAPTER XXI
RATHER UNIMPORTANT
‘I was turned back,’ said Fergus to Edward, as they galloped from Preston to Pinkie House, ‘by a message from the Prince. But I suppose you know the value of this most noble Colonel Talbot as a prisoner. He is held one of the best officers among the red-coats, a special friend and favourite of the Elector himself, and of that dreadful hero, the Duke of Cumberland, who has been summoned from his triumphs at Fontenoy to come over and devour us poor Highlanders alive. Has he been telling you how the bells of St. James’s ring? Not “turn again, Whittington,” like those of Bow, in the days of yore?’
‘Fergus!’ said Waverley, with a reproachful look.
‘Nay, I cannot tell what to make of you,’ answered the Chief of Mac-Ivor, ‘you are blown about with every wind of doctrine. Here have we gained a victory unparalleled in history, and your behaviour is praised by every living mortal to the skies, and the Prince is eager to thank you in person, and all our beauties of the White Rose are pulling caps for you; – and you, the preux chevalier of the day, are stooping on your horse’s neck like a butter-woman riding to market, and looking as black as a funeral!’
‘I am sorry for poor Colonel Gardiner’s death; he was once very kind to me.’
‘Why, then, be sorry for five minutes, and then be glad again; his chance to-day may be ours to-morrow; and what does it signify? The next best thing to victory is honourable death; but it is a PIS-ALLER, and one would rather a foe had it than one’s self.’
‘But Colonel Talbot has informed me that my father and uncle are both imprisoned by government on my account.’
‘We’ll put in bail, my boy; old Andrew Ferrara [Footnote: See Note 10.] shall lodge his security; and I should like to see him put to justify it in Westminster Hall!’
‘Nay, they are already at liberty, upon bail of a more civic disposition.’
‘Then why is thy noble spirit cast down, Edward? Dost think that the Elector’s ministers are such doves as to set their enemies at liberty at this critical moment if they could or durst confine and punish them? Assure thyself that either they have no charge against your relations on which they can continue their imprisonment, or else they are afraid of our friends, the jolly Cavaliers of old England. At any rate, you need not be apprehensive upon their account; and we will find some means of conveying to them assurances of your safety.’
Edward was silenced but not satisfied with these reasons. He had now been more than once shocked at the small degree of sympathy which Fergus exhibited for the feelings even of those whom he loved, if they did not correspond with his own mood at the time, and more especially if they thwarted him while earnest in a favourite pursuit. Fergus sometimes indeed observed that he had offended Waverley, but, always intent upon some favourite plan or project of his own, he was never sufficiently aware of the extent or duration of his displeasure, so that the reiteration of these petty offences somewhat cooled the volunteer’s extreme attachment to his officer.
The Chevalier received Waverley with his usual favour, and paid him many compliments on his distinguished bravery. He then took him apart, made many inquiries concerning Colonel Talbot, and when he had received all the information which Edward was able to give concerning him and his connexions, he proceeded – ‘I cannot but think, Mr. Waverley, that since this gentleman is so particularly connected with our worthy and excellent friend, Sir Everard Waverley, and since his lady is of the house of Blandeville, whose devotion to the true and loyal principles of the Church of England is so generally known, the Colonel’s own private sentiments cannot be unfavorable to us, whatever mask he may have assumed to accommodate himself to the times.’
‘If I am to judge from the language he this day held to me, I am under the necessity of differing widely from your Royal Highness.’
‘Well, it is worth making a trial at least. I therefore entrust you with the charge of Colonel Talbot, with power to act concerning him as you think most advisable; and I hope you will find means of ascertaining what are his real dispositions towards our Royal Father’s restoration.’
‘I am convinced,’ said Waverley, bowing, ‘that if Colonel Talbot chooses to grant his parole, it may be securely depended upon; but if he refuses it, I trust your Royal Highness will devolve on some other person than the nephew of his friend the task of laying him under the necessary restraint.’
‘I will trust him with no person but you,’ said the Prince, smiling, but peremptorily repeating his mandate; ‘it is of importance to my service that there should appear to be a good intelligence between you, even if you are unable to gain his confidence in earnest. You will therefore receive him into your quarters, and in case he declines giving his parole, you must apply for a proper guard. I beg you will go about this directly. We return to Edinburgh tomorrow.’
Being thus remanded to the vicinity of Preston, Waverley lost the Baron of Bradwardine’s solemn act of homage. So little, however, was he at this time in love with vanity, that he had quite forgotten the ceremony in which Fergus had laboured to engage his curiosity. But next day a formal ‘Gazette’ was circulated, containing a detailed account of the battle of Gladsmuir, as the Highlanders chose to denominate their victory. It concluded with an account of the court afterwards held by the Chevalier at Pinkie House, which contained this among other high-flown descriptive paragraphs: —
‘Since that fatal treaty which annihilates Scotland as an independent nation, it has not been our happiness to see her princes receive, and her nobles discharge, those acts of feudal homage which, founded upon the splendid actions of Scottish valour, recall the memory of her early history, with the manly and chivalrous simplicity of the ties which united to the Crown the homage of the warriors by whom it was repeatedly upheld and defended. But on the evening of the 20th our memories were refreshed with one of those ceremonies which belong to the ancient days of Scotland’s glory. After the circle was formed, Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine of that ilk, colonel in the service, etc., etc., etc., came before the Prince, attended by Mr. D. Macwheeble, the Bailie of his ancient barony of Bradwardine (who, we understand, has been lately named a commissary), and, under form of instrument, claimed permission to perform to the person of his Royal Highness, as representing his father, the service used and wont, for which, under a charter of Robert Bruce (of which the original was produced and inspected by the Masters of his Royal Highness’s Chancery for the time being), the claimant held the barony of Bradwardine and lands of Tully-Veolan. His claim being admitted and registered, his Royal Highness having placed his foot upon a cushion, the Baron of Bradwardine, kneeling upon his right knee, proceeded to undo the latchet of the brogue, or low-heeled Highland shoe, which our gallant young hero wears in compliment to his brave followers. When this was performed, his Royal Highness declared the ceremony completed; and, embracing the gallant veteran, protested that nothing but compliance with an ordinance of Robert Bruce could have induced him to receive even the symbolical performance of a menial office from hands which had fought so bravely to put the crown upon the head of his father. The Baron of Bradwardine then took instruments in the hands of Mr. Commissary Macwheeble, bearing that all points and circumstances of the act of homage had been rite et solenniter acta et peracta; and a corresponding entry was made in the protocol of the Lord High Chamberlain and in the record of Chancery. We understand that it is in contemplation of his Royal Highness, when his Majesty’s pleasure can be known, to raise Colonel Bradwardine to the peerage, by the title of Viscount Bradwardine of Bradwardine and Tully-Veolan, and that, in the meanwhile, his Royal Highness, in his father’s name and authority, has been pleased to grant him an honourable augmentation to his paternal coat of arms, being a budget or boot-jack, disposed saltier-wise with a naked broadsword, to be borne in the dexter cantle of the shield; and, as an additional motto, on a scroll beneath, the words, “Draw and draw off.”’
‘Were it not for the recollection of Fergus’s raillery,’ thought Waverley to himself, when he had perused this long and grave document, how very tolerably would all this sound, and how little should I have thought of connecting it with any ludicrous idea! Well, after all, everything has its fair as well as its seamy side; and truly I do not see why the Baron’s boot-jack may not stand as fair in heraldry as the water-buckets, waggons, cart-wheels, plough-socks, shuttles, candlesticks, and other ordinaries, conveying ideas of anything save chivalry, which appear in the arms of some of our most ancient gentry.’
This, however, is an episode in respect to the principal story.
When Waverley returned to Preston and rejoined Colonel Talbot, he found him recovered from the strong and obvious emotions with which a concurrence of unpleasing events had affected him. He had regained his natural manner, which was that of an English gentleman and soldier, manly, open and generous, but not unsusceptible of prejudice against those of a different country, or who opposed him in political tenets. When Waverley acquainted Colonel Talbot with the Chevalier’s purpose to commit him to his charge, ‘I did not think to have owed so much obligation to that young gentleman,’ he said, ‘as is implied in this destination. I can at least cheerfully join in the prayer of the honest Presbyterian clergyman, that, as he has come among us seeking an earthly crown, his labours may be speedily rewarded with a heavenly one. [Footnote: The clergyman’s name was Mac-Vicar. Protected by the cannon of the Castle, he preached every Sunday in the West Kirk while the Highlanders were in possession of Edinburgh, and it was in presence of some of the Jacobites that he prayed for Prince Charles Edward in the terms quoted in the text.] I shall willingly give my parole not to attempt an escape without your knowledge, since, in fact, it was to meet you that I came to Scotland; and I am glad it has happened even under this predicament. But I suppose we shall be but a short time together. Your Chevalier (that is a name we may both give to him), with his plaids and blue caps, will, I presume, be continuing his crusade southward?’
‘Not as I hear; I believe the army makes some stay in Edinburgh to collect reinforcements.’
‘And to besiege the Castle?’ said Talbot, smiling sarcastically. ‘Well, unless my old commander, General Preston, turn false metal, or the Castle sink into the North Loch, events which I deem equally probable, I think we shall have some time to make up our acquaintance. I have a guess that this gallant Chevalier has a design that I should be your proselyte; and, as I wish you to be mine, there cannot be a more fair proposal than to afford us fair conference together. But, as I spoke today under the influence of feelings I rarely give way to, I hope you will excuse my entering again upon controversy till we are somewhat better acquainted.’
