by Walter Scott
CHAPTER LXI
A JOURNEY TO LONDON
Theamily at Fasthwaite were soon attached to Edward. He had,indeed, that gentleness and urbanity which almost universallyattracts corresponding kindness; and to their simple ideas hislearning gave him consequence, and his sorrows interest. The lasthe ascribed, evasively, to the loss of a brother in the skirmishnear Clifton; and in that primitive state of society, where theties of affection were highly deemed of, his continued depressionexcited sympathy, but not surprise.
In the end of January his more lively powers were called out bythe happy union of Edward Williams, the son of his host, withCicely Jopson. Our hero would not cloud with sorrow the festivityattending the wedding of two persons to whom he was so highlyobliged. He therefore exerted himself, danced, sung, played at thevarious games of the day, and was the blithest of the company. Thenext morning, however, he had more serious matters to think of.
The clergyman who had married the young couple was so much pleasedwith the supposed student of divinity, that he came next day fromPenrith on purpose to pay him a visit. This might have been apuzzling chapter had he entered into any examination of our hero'ssupposed theological studies; but fortunately he loved better tohear and communicate the news of the day. He brought with him twoor three old newspapers, in one of which Edward found a piece ofintelligence that soon rendered him deaf to every word which theReverend Mr. Twigtythe was saying upon the news from the north,and the prospect of the Duke's speedily overtaking and crushingthe rebels. This was an article in these, or nearly these words:--
'Died at his house, in Hill Street, Berkeley Square, upon the 10thinst., Richard Waverley, Esq., second son of Sir Giles Waverley ofWaverley-Honour, etc. etc. He died of a lingering disorder,augmented by the unpleasant predicament of suspicion in which hestood, having been obliged to find bail to a high amount to meetan impending accusation of high-treason. An accusation of the samegrave crime hangs over his elder brother, Sir Everard Waverley,the representative of that ancient family; and we understand theday of his trial will be fixed early in the next month, unlessEdward Waverley, son of the deceased Richard, and heir to theBaronet, shall surrender himself to justice. In that case we areassured it is his Majesty's gracious purpose to drop furtherproceedings upon the charge against Sir Everard. This unfortunateyoung gentleman is ascertained to have been in arms in thePretender's service, and to have marched along with the Highlandtroops into England. But he has not been heard of since theskirmish at Clifton, on the 18th December last.'
Such was this distracting paragraph. 'Good God!' exclaimedWaverley, 'am I then a parricide? Impossible! My father, who nevershowed the affection of a father while he lived, cannot have beenso much affected by my supposed death as to hasten his own; no, Iwill not believe it, it were distraction to entertain for a momentsuch a horrible idea. But it were, if possible, worse thanparricide to suffer any danger to hang over my noble and generousuncle, who has ever been more to me than a father, if such evilcan be averted by any sacrifice on my part!'
While these reflections passed like the stings of scorpionsthrough Waverley's sensorium, the worthy divine was startled in along disquisition on the battle of Falkirk by the ghastlinesswhich they communicated to his looks, and asked him if he was ill?Fortunately the bride, all smirk and blush, had just entered theroom. Mrs. Williams was none of the brightest of women, but shewas good-natured, and readily concluding that Edward had beenshocked by disagreeable news in the papers, interfered sojudiciously, that, without exciting suspicion, she drew off Mr.Twigtythe's attention, and engaged it until he soon after took hisleave. Waverley then explained to his friends that he was underthe necessity of going to London with as little delay as possible.
One cause of delay, however, did occur, to which Waverley had beenvery little accustomed. His purse, though well stocked when hefirst went to Tully-Veolan, had not been reinforced since thatperiod; and although his life since had not been of a nature toexhaust it hastily, for he had lived chiefly with his friends orwith the army, yet he found that, after settling with his kindlandlord, he should be too poor to encounter the expense oftravelling post. The best course, therefore, seemed to be to getinto the great north road about Boroughbridge, and there take aplace in the northern diligence, a huge old-fashioned tub, drawnby three horses, which completed the journey from Edinburgh toLondon (God willing, as the advertisement expressed it) in threeweeks. Our hero, therefore, took an affectionate farewell of hisCumberland friends, whose kindness he promised never to forget,and tacitly hoped ene day to acknowledge by substantial proofs ofgratitude. After some petty difficulties and vexatious delays, andafter putting his dress into a shape better befitting his rank,though perfectly plain and simple, he accomplished crossing thecountry, and found himself in the desired vehicle vis-a-vis toMrs. Nosebag, the lady of Lieutenant Nosebag, adjutant and riding-master of the--dragoons, a jolly woman of about fifty, wearing ablue habit, faced with scarlet, and grasping a silver-mountedhorse-whip.
This lady was one of those active members of society who take uponthem faire lefrais de la conversation. She had just returned fromthe north, and informed Edward how nearly her regiment had cut thepetticoat people into ribands at Falkirk, 'only somehow there wasone of those nasty, awkward marshes, that they are never withoutin Scotland, I think, and so our poor dear little regimentsuffered something, as my Nosebag says, in that unsatisfactoryaffair. You, sir, have served in the dragoons?' Waverley was takenso much at unawares that he acquiesced.
'O, I knew it at once; I saw you were military from your air, andI was sure you could be none of the foot-wobblers, as my Nosebagcalls them. What regiment, pray?' Here was a delightful question.Waverley, however, justly concluded that this good lady had thewhole army-list by heart; and, to avoid detection by adhering totruth, answered, 'Gardiner's dragoons, ma'am; but I have retiredsome time.'
'O aye, those as won the race at the battle of Preston, as myNosebag says. Pray, sir, were you there?'
'I was so unfortunate, madam,' he replied, 'as to witness thatengagement.'
'And that was a misfortune that few of Gardiner's stood towitness, I believe, sir--ha! ha! ha! I beg your pardon; but asoldier's wife loves a joke.'
'Devil confound you,' thought Waverley: 'what infernal luck haspenned me up with this inquisitive hag!'
Fortunately the good lady did not stick long to one subject. 'Weare coming to Ferrybridge now,' she said, 'where there was a partyof OURS left to support the beadles, and constables, and justices,and these sort of creatures that are examining papers and stoppingrebels, and all that.' They were hardly in the inn before shedragged Waverley to the window, exclaiming, 'Yonder comes CorporalBridoon, of our poor dear troop; he's coming with the constableman. 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 withthe name of a former fellow-officer than run the risk of detectionby 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 Crumpwould 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 youand I belong to the service, we'll go put the rascal in mind ofhis duty.'
Waverley, with feelings more easily conceived than described, sawhimself obliged to follow this doughty female commander. Thegallant trooper was as like a lamb as a drunk corporal ofdragoons, about six feet high, with very broad shoulders, and verythin legs, not to mention a great scar across his nose, could wellbe. Mrs. Nosebag addressed him with something which, if not anoath, sounded very like one, and commanded him to attend to hisduty. 'You be d--d for a----,' commenced the gallant cavalier; but,looking up in order to suit the action to the words, and also toenforce the epithet which he meditated with an adjectiveapplicable to the party, he recognised the speaker, made hismilitary salaam, and
altered his tone. 'Lord love your handsomeface, Madam Nosebag, is it you? Why, if a poor fellow does happento fire a slug of a morning, I am sure you were never the lady tobring him to harm.'
'Well, you rascallion, go, mind your duty; this gentleman and Ibelong to the service; but be sure you look after that shy cock inthe slouched hat that sits in the corner of the coach. I believehe's one of the rebels in disguise.'
'D--n her gooseberry wig,' said the corporal, when she was out ofhearing, '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 thebargain. Come, Master Constable, let's see if this shy cock, asshe calls him (who, by the way, was a Quaker from Leeds, with whomMrs. Nosebag had had some tart argument on the legality of bearingarms), will stand godfather to a sup of brandy, for your Yorkshireale is cold on my stomach.'
The vivacity of this good lady, as it helped Edward out of thisscrape, was like to have drawn him into one or two others. Inevery town where they stopped she wished to examine the corps degarde, if there was one, and once very narrowly missed introducingWaverley to a recruiting-sergeant of his own regiment. Then sheCaptain'd and Butler'd him till he was almost mad with vexationand anxiety; and never was he more rejoiced in his life at thetermination of a journey than when the arrival of the coach inLondon freed him from the attentions of Madam Nosebag.
