Kabanata Kabanata 35 · A VOLUNTEER SIXTY YEARS SINCE

. A VOLUNTEER SIXTY YEARS SINCE

On hearing the unwelcome sound of the drum, Major Melville hastily

opened a sashed door and stepped out upon a sort of terrace which

divided his house from the highroad from which the martial music

proceeded. Waverley and his new friend followed him, though probably he

would have dispensed with their attendance. They soon recognised in

solemn march, first, the performer upon the drum; secondly, a large

flag of four compartments, on which were inscribed the words, COVENANT,

KIRK, KING, KINGDOMS. The person who was honoured with this charge was

followed by the commander of the party, a thin, dark, rigid-looking

man, about sixty years old. The spiritual pride, which in mine host of

the Candlestick mantled in a sort of supercilious hypocrisy, was in

this man’s face elevated and yet darkened by genuine and undoubting

fanaticism. It was impossible to behold him without imagination placing

him in some strange crisis, where religious zeal was the ruling

principle. A martyr at the stake, a soldier in the field, a lonely and

banished wanderer consoled by the intensity and supposed purity of his

faith under every earthly privation, perhaps a persecuting inquisitor,

as terrific in power as unyielding in adversity; any of these seemed

congenial characters to this personage. With these high traits of

energy, there was something in the affected precision and solemnity of

his deportment and discourse that bordered upon the ludicrous; so that,

according to the mood of the spectator’s mind and the light under which

Mr. Gilfillan presented himself, one might have feared, admired, or

laughed at him. His dress was that of a West-Country peasant, of better

materials indeed than that of the lower rank, but in no respect

affecting either the mode of the age or of the Scottish gentry at any

period. His arms were a broadsword and pistols, which, from the

antiquity of their appearance, might have seen the rout of Pentland or

Bothwell Brigg.

As he came up a few steps to meet Major Melville, and touched solemnly,

but slightly, his huge and over-brimmed blue bonnet, in answer to the

Major, who had courteously raised a small triangular gold-laced hat,

Waverley was irresistibly impressed with the idea that he beheld a

leader of the Roundheads of yore in conference with one of

Marlborough’s captains.

The group of about thirty armed men who followed this gifted commander

was of a motley description. They were in ordinary Lowland dresses, of

different colours, which, contrasted with the arms they bore, gave them

an irregular and mobbish appearance; so much is the eye accustomed to

connect uniformity of dress with the military character. In front were

a few who apparently partook of their leader’s enthusiasm, men

obviously to be feared in a combat, where their natural courage was

exalted by religious zeal. Others puffed and strutted, filled with the

importance of carrying arms and all the novelty of their situation,

while the rest, apparently fatigued with their march, dragged their

limbs listlessly along, or straggled from their companions to procure

such refreshments as the neighbouring cottages and alehouses afforded.

Six grenadiers of Ligonier’s, thought the Major to himself, as his mind

reverted to his own military experience, would have sent all these

fellows to the right about.

Greeting, however, Mr. Gilfillan civilly, he requested to know if he

had received the letter he had sent to him upon his march, and could

undertake the charge of the state prisoner whom he there mentioned as

far as Stirling Castle. “Yea,” was the concise reply of the Cameronian

leader, in a voice which seemed to issue from the very _penetralia_ of

his person.

“But your escort, Mr. Gilfillan, is not so strong as I expected,” said

Major Melville.

“Some of the people,” replied Gilfillan, “hungered and were athirst by

the way, and tarried until their poor souls were refreshed with the

word.”

“I am sorry, sir,” replied the Major, “you did not trust to your

refreshing your men at Cairnvreckan; whatever my house contains is at

the command of persons employed in the service.”

“It was not of creature-comforts I spake,” answered the Covenanter,

regarding Major Melville with something like a smile of contempt;

“howbeit, I thank you; but the people remained waiting upon the

precious Mr. Jabesh Rentowel for the out-pouring of the afternoon

exhortation.”

“And have you, sir,” said the Major, “when the rebels are about to

spread themselves through this country, actually left a great part of

your command at a fieldpreaching?”

Gilfillan again smiled scornfully as he made this indirect answer—“Even

thus are the children of this world wiser in their generation than the

children of light!”

“However, sir,” said the Major, “as you are to take charge of this

gentleman to Stirling, and deliver him, with these papers, into the

hands of Governor Blakeney, I beseech you to observe some rules of

military discipline upon your march. For example, I would advise you to

keep your men more closely together, and that each in his march should

cover his file-leader, instead of straggling like geese upon a common;

and, for fear of surprise, I further recommend to you to form a small

advance-party of your best men, with a single vidette in front of the

whole march, so that when you approach a village or a wood”—(here the

Major interrupted himself)—“But as I don’t observe you listen to me,

Mr. Gilfillan, I suppose I need not give myself the trouble to say more

upon the subject. You are a better judge, unquestionably, than I am of

the measures to be pursued; but one thing I would have you well aware

of, that you are to treat this gentleman, your prisoner, with no rigour

nor incivility, and are to subject him to no other restraint than is

necessary for his security.”

“I have looked into my commission,” said Mr. Gilfillan, “subscribed by

a worthy and professing nobleman, William, Earl of Glencairn; nor do I

find it therein set down that I am to receive any charges or commands

anent my doings from Major William Melville of Cairnvreckan.”

Major Melville reddened even to the well-powdered ears which appeared

beneath his neat military sidecurls, the more so as he observed Mr.

Morton smile at the same moment. “Mr. Gilfillan,” he answered, with

some asperity, “I beg ten thousand pardons for interfering with a

person of your importance. I thought, however, that as you have been

bred a grazier, if I mistake not, there might be occasion to remind you

of the difference between Highlanders and Highland cattle; and if you

should happen to meet with any gentleman who has seen service, and is

disposed to speak upon the subject, I should still imagine that

listening to him would do you no sort of harm. But I have done, and

have only once more to recommend this gentleman to your civility as

well as to your custody. Mr. Waverley, I am truly sorry we should part

in this way; but I trust, when you are again in this country, I may

have an opportunity to render Cairnvreckan more agreeable than

circumstances have permitted on this occasion.”

So saying, he shook our hero by the hand. Morton also took an

affectionate farewell, and Waverley, having mounted his horse, with a

musketeer leading it by the bridle and a file upon each side to prevent

his escape, set forward upon the march with Gilfillan and his party.

Through the little village they were accompanied with the shouts of the

children, who cried out, “Eh! see to the Southland gentleman that’s

gaun to be hanged for shooting lang John Mucklewrath, the smith!”