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
recognized the object of his visit, not only by the peculiar dignity
of his appearance, but by the appendage of Dugald Mahony, with his
battle-axe, 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 unfavourable
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 re-examination 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 [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.'