Chapter Chapter 28 · A LETTER FROM TULLY-VEOLAN

. A LETTER FROM TULLY-VEOLAN

In the morning, when Waverley’s troubled reflections had for some time

given way to repose, there came music to his dreams, but not the voice

of Selma. He imagined himself transported back to Tully-Veolan, and

that he heard Davie Gellatley singing in the court those matins which

used generally to be the first sounds that disturbed his repose while a

guest of the Baron of Bradwardine. The notes which suggested this

vision continued, and waxed louder, until Edward awoke in earnest. The

illusion, however, did not seem entirely dispelled. The apartment was

in the fortress of Ian nan Chaistel, but it was still the voice of

Davie Gellatley that made the following lines resound under the

window:—

My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here,

My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;

A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,

My heart’s in the Highlands wherever I go.[*]

[* These lines form the burden of an old song to which Burns wrote

additional verses.]

Curious to know what could have determined Mr. Gellatley on an

excursion of such unwonted extent, Edward began to dress himself in all

haste, during which operation the minstrelsy of Davie changed its tune

more than once:—

There’s nought in the Highlands but syboes and leeks,

And lang-leggit callants gaun wanting the breeks,

Wanting the breeks, and without hose and shoon,

But we’ll a’win the breeks when King Jamie comes hame.[*]

[* These lines are also ancient, and I believe to the tune of “We’ll

never hae peace till Jamie comes hame,” to which Burns likewise wrote

some verses.]

By the time Waverley was dressed and had issued forth, David had

associated himself with two or three of the numerous Highland loungers

who always graced the gates of the castle with their presence, and was

capering and dancing full merrily in the doubles and full career of a

Scotch foursome reel, to the music of his own whistling. In this double

capacity of dancer and musician he continued, until an idle piper, who

observed his zeal, obeyed the unanimous call of“seid suas” (that is

blow up), and relieved him from the latter part of his trouble. Young

and old then mingled in the dance as they could find partners. The

appearance of Waverley did not interrupt David’s exercise, though he

contrived, by grinning, nodding, and throwing one or two inclinations

of the body into the graces with which he performed the Highland fling,

to convey to our hero symptoms of recognition. Then, while busily

employed in setting, whooping all the while, and snapping his fingers

over his head, he of a sudden prolonged his side-step until it brought

him to the place where Edward was standing, and, still keeping time to

the music like Harlequin in a pantomime, he thrust a letter into our

hero’s hand, and continued his saltation without pause or intermission.

Edward, who perceived that the address was in Rose’s hand-writing,

retired to peruse it, leaving the faithful bearer to continue his

exercise until the piper or he should be tired out.

The contents of the letter greatly surprised him. It had originally

commenced with “Dear Sir”; but these words had been carefully erased,

and the monosyllable “Sir” substituted in their place. The rest of the

contents shall be given in Rose’s own language.

I fear I am using an improper freedom by intruding upon you, yet I

cannot trust to any one else to let you know some things which have

happened here, with which it seems necessary you should be acquainted.

Forgive me, if I am wrong in what I am doing; for, alas! Mr. Waverley,

I have no better advice than that of my own feelings; my dear father is

gone from this place, and when he can return to my assistance and

protection, God alone knows. You have probably heard that, in

consequence of some troublesome news from the Highlands, warrants were

sent out for apprehending several gentlemen in these parts, and, among

others, my dear father. In spite of all my tears and entreaties that he

would surrender himself to the government, he joined with Mr. Falconer

and some other gentlemen, and they have all gone northwards, with a

body of about forty horsemen. So I am not so anxious concerning his

immediate safety as about what may follow afterwards, for these

troubles are only beginning. But all this is nothing to you, Mr.

Waverley, only I thought you would be glad to learn that my father has

escaped, in case you happen to have heard that he was in danger.

The day after my father went off there came a party of soldiers to

Tully-Veolan, and behaved very rudely to Bailie Macwheeble; but the

officer was very civil to me, only said his duty obliged him to

search for arms and papers. My father had provided against this by

taking away all the arms except the old useless things which hung

in the hall, and he had put all his papers out of the way. But O!

Mr. Waverley, how shall I tell you, that they made strict inquiry

after you, and asked when you had been at Tully-Veolan, and where

you now were. The officer is gone back with his party, but a

non-commissioned officer and four men remain as a sort of garrison

in the house. They have hitherto behaved very well, as we are

forced to keep them in good-humour. But these soldiers have hinted

as if, on your falling into their hands, you would be in great

danger; I cannot prevail on myself to write what wicked falsehoods

they said, for I am sure they are falsehoods; but you will best

judge what you ought to do. The party that returned carried off

your servant prisoner, with your two horses, and everything that

you left at Tully-Veolan. I hope God will protect you, and that you

will get safe home to England, where you used to tell me there was

no military violence nor fighting among clans permitted, but

everything was done according to an equal law that protected all

who were harmless and innocent. I hope you will exert your

indulgence as to my boldness in writing to you, where it seems to

me, though perhaps erroneously, that your safety and honour are

concerned. I am sure—at least I think, my father would approve of

my writing; for Mr. Rubrick is fled to his cousin’s at the Duchran,

to be out of danger from the soldiers and the Whigs, and Bailie

Macwheeble does not like to meddle (he says) in other men’s

concerns, though I hope what may serve my father’s friend at such a

time as this cannot be termed improper interference. Farewell,

Captain Waverley! I shall probably never see you more; for it would

be very improper to wish you to call at Tully-Veolan just now, even

if these men were gone; but I will always remember with gratitude

your kindness in assisting so poor a scholar as myself, and your

attentions to my dear, dear father.

I remain, your obliged servant,

ROSE COMYNE BRADWARDINE.

P.S.—I hope you will send me a line by David Gellatley, just to say you

have received this and that you will take care of yourself; and forgive

me if I entreat you, for your own sake, to join none of these unhappy

cabals, but escape, as fast as possible, to your own fortunate country.

My compliments to my dear Flora and to Glennaquoich. Is she not as

handsome and accomplished as I have described her?

Thus concluded the letter of Rose Bradwardine, the contents of which

both surprised and affected Waverley. That the Baron should fall under

the suspicions of government, in consequence of the present stir among

the partisans of the house of Stuart, seemed only the natural

consequence of his political predilections; but how _he_ himself should

have been involved in such suspicions, conscious that until yesterday

he had been free from harbouring a thought against the prosperity of

the reigning family, seemed inexplicable. Both at Tully-Veolan and

Glennaquoich his hosts had respected his engagements with the existing

government, and though enough passed by accidental innuendo that might

induce him to reckon the Baron and the Chief among those disaffected

gentlemen who were still numerous in Scotland, yet until his own

connection with the army had been broken off by the resumption of his

commission, he had no reason to suppose that they nourished any

immediate or hostile attempts against the present establishment. Still

he was aware that, unless he meant at once to embrace the proposal of

Fergus Mac-Ivor, it would deeply concern him to leave the suspicious

neighbourhood without delay, and repair where his conduct might undergo

a satisfactory examination. Upon this he the rather determined, as

Flora’s advice favoured his doing so, and because he felt inexpressible

repugnance at the idea of being accessary to the plague of civil war.

Whatever were the original rights of the Stuarts, calm reflection told

him that, omitting the question how far James the Second could forfeit

those of his posterity, he had, according to the united voice of the

whole nation, justly forfeited his own. Since that period four monarchs

had reigned in peace and glory over Britain, sustaining and exalting

the character of the nation abroad and its liberties at home. Reason

asked, was it worth while to disturb a government so long settled and

established, and to plunge a kingdom into all the miseries of civil

war, for the purpose of replacing upon the throne the descendants of a

monarch by whom it had been wilfully forfeited? If, on the other hand,

his own final conviction of the goodness of their cause, or the

commands of his father or uncle, should recommend to him allegiance to

the Stuarts, still it was necessary to clear his own character by

showing that he had not, as seemed to be falsely insinuated, taken any

step to this purpose during his holding the commission of the reigning

monarch.

The affectionate simplicity of Rose and her anxiety for his safety, his

sense too of her unprotected state, and of the terror and actual

dangers to which she might be exposed, made an impression upon his

mind, and he instantly wrote to thank her in the kindest terms for her

solicitude on his account, to express his earnest good wishes for her

welfare and that of her father, and to assure her of his own safety.

The feelings which this task excited were speedily lost in the

necessity which he now saw of bidding farewell to Flora Mac-Ivor,

perhaps for ever. The pang attending this reflection was inexpressible;

for her high-minded elevation of character, her self-devotion to the

cause which she had embraced, united to her scrupulous rectitude as to

the means of serving it, had vindicated to his judgment the choice

adopted by his passions. But time pressed, calumny was busy with his

fame, and every hour’s delay increased the power to injure it. His

departure must be instant.

With this determination he sought out Fergus, and communicated to him

the contents of Rose’s letter, with his own resolution instantly to go

to Edinburgh, and put into the hands of some one or other of those

persons of influence to whom he had letters from his father his

exculpation from any charge which might be preferred against him.

“You run your head into the lion’s mouth,” answered Mac-Ivor. “You do

not know the severity of a government harassed by just apprehensions,

and a consciousness of their own illegality and insecurity. I shall

have to deliver you from some dungeon in Stirling or Edinburgh Castle.”

“My innocence, my rank, my father’s intimacy with Lord M——, General

G——, etc., will be a sufficient protection,” said Waverley.

“You will find the contrary,” replied the Chieftain, “these gentlemen

will have enough to do about their own matters. Once more, will you

take the plaid, and stay a little while with us among the mists and the

crows, in the bravest cause ever sword was drawn in?”[*]

[* A Highland rhyme on Glencairn’s Expedition, in 1650, has these

lines—

We’ll bide a while amang ta crows,

We’ll wiske ta sword and bend ta bows]

“For many reasons, my dear Fergus, you must hold me excused.”

“Well then,” said Mac-Ivor, “I shall certainly find you exerting your

poetical talents in elegies upon a prison, or your antiquarian

researches in detecting the Oggam[*] character or some Punic

hieroglyphic upon the keystones of a vault, curiously arched. Or what

say you to _un petit pendement bien joli?_ against which awkward

ceremony I don’t warrant you, should you meet a body of the armed

West-Country Whigs.”

[* The Oggam is a species of the old Irish character. The idea of the

correspondence betwixt the Celtic and Punic, founded on a scene in

Plautus, was not started till General Vallancey set up his theory, long

after the date of Fergus Mac-Ivor]

“And why should they use me so?” said Waverley.

“For a hundred good reasons,” answered Fergus. “First, you are an

Englishman; secondly, a gentleman; thirdly, a prelatist abjured; and,

fourthly, they have not had an opportunity to exercise their talents on

such a subject this long while. But don’t be cast down, beloved; all

will be done in the fear of the Lord.”

“Well, I must run my hazard.”

“You are determined, then?”

“I am.”

“Wilful will do’t” said Fergus. “But you cannot go on foot, and I shall

want no horse, as I must march on foot at the head of the children of

Ivor; you shall have brown Dermid.”

“If you will sell him, I shall certainly be much obliged.”

“If your proud English heart cannot be obliged by a gift or loan, I

will not refuse money at the entrance of a campaign: his price is

twenty guineas. [Remember, reader, it was Sixty Years Since.] And when

do you propose to depart?”

“The sooner the better,” answered Waverley.

“You are right, since go you must, or rather, since go you will. I will

take Flora’s pony and ride with you as far as Bally-Brough. Callum Beg,

see that our horses are ready, with a pony for yourself, to attend and

carry Mr. Waverley’s baggage as far as —— (naming a small town), where

he can have a horse and guide to Edinburgh. Put on a Lowland dress,

Callum, and see you keep your tongue close, if you would not have me

cut it out. Mr. Waverley rides Dermid.” Then turning to Edward, “You

will take leave of my sister?”

“Surely—that is, if Miss Mac-Ivor will honour me so far.”

“Cathleen, let my sister know Mr. Waverley wishes to bid her farewell

before he leaves us. But Rose Bradwardine, her situation must be

thought of; I wish she were here. And why should she not? There are but

four red-coats at Tully-Veolan, and their muskets would be very useful

to us.”

To these broken remarks Edward made no answer; his ear indeed received

them, but his soul was intent upon the expected entrance of Flora. The

door opened. It was but Cathleen, with her lady’s excuse, and wishes

for Captain Waverley’s health and happiness.