บทที่ บทที่ 58 · THE CONFUSION OF KING AGRAMANT’S CAMP

. THE CONFUSION OF KING AGRAMANT’S CAMP

It was Waverley’s custom sometimes to ride a little apart from the main

body, to look at any object of curiosity which occurred on the march.

They were now in Lancashire, when, attracted by a castellated old hall,

he left the squadron for half an hour to take a survey and slight

sketch of it. As he returned down the avenue he was met by Ensign

Maccombich. This man had contracted a sort of regard for Edward since

the day of his first seeing him at Tully-Veolan and introducing him to

the Highlands. He seemed to loiter, as if on purpose to meet with our

hero. Yet, as he passed him, he only approached his stirrup and

pronounced the single word “Beware!” and then walked swiftly on,

shunning all further communication.

Edward, somewhat surprised at this hint, followed with his eyes the

course of Evan, who speedily disappeared among the trees. His servant,

Alick Polwarth, who was in attendance, also looked after the

Highlander, and then riding up close to his master, said,—

“The ne’er be in me, sir, if I think you’re safe amang thae Highland

rinthereouts.”

“What do you mean, Alick?” said Waverley.

“The Mac-Ivors, sir, hae gotten it into their heads that ye hae

affronted their young leddy, Miss Flora; and I hae heard mae than ane

say, they wadna tak muckle to mak a black-cock o’ ye; and ye ken weel

eneugh there’s mony o’ them wadna mind a bawbee the weising a ball

through the Prince himsell, an the chief gae them the wink, or whether

he did or no, if they thought it a thing that would please him when it

was dune.”

Waverley, though confident that Fergus Mac-Ivor was incapable of such

treachery, was by no means equally sure of the forbearance of his

followers. He knew that, where the honour of the chief or his family

was supposed to be touched, the happiest man would be he that could

first avenge the stigma; and he had often heard them quote a proverb,

“That the best revenge was the most speedy and most safe.” Coupling

this with the hint of Evan, he judged it most prudent to set spurs to

his horse and ride briskly back to the squadron. Ere he reached the end

of the long avenue, however, a ball whistled past him, and the report

of a pistol was heard.

“It was that deevil’s buckle, Callum Beg,” said Alick; “I saw him whisk

away through amang the reises.”

Edward, justly incensed at this act of treachery, galloped out of the

avenue, and observed the battalion of Mac-Ivor at some distance moving

along the common in which it terminated. He also saw an individual

running very fast to join the party; this he concluded was the intended

assassin, who, by leaping an enclosure, might easily make a much

shorter path to the main body than he could find on horseback. Unable

to contain himself, he commanded Alick to go to the Baron of

Bradwardine, who was at the head of his regiment about half a mile in

front, and acquaint him with what had happened. He himself immediately

rode up to Fergus’s regiment. The chief himself was in the act of

joining them. He was on horseback, having returned from waiting on the

Prince. On perceiving Edward approaching, he put his horse in motion

towards him.

“Colonel Mac-Ivor,” said Waverley, without any farther salutation, “I

have to inform you that one of your people has this instant fired at me

from a lurking-place.”

“As that,” answered Mac-Ivor, “excepting the circumstance of a

lurking-place, is a pleasure which I presently propose to myself, I

should be glad to know which of my clansmen dared to anticipate me.”

“I shall certainly be at your command whenever you please; the

gentleman who took your office upon himself is your page there, Callum

Beg.”

“Stand forth from the ranks, Callum! Did you fire at Mr. Waverley?”

“No,” answered the unblushing Callum.

“You did,” said Alick Polwarth, who was already returned, having met a

trooper by whom he despatched an account of what was going forward to

the Baron of Bradwardine, while he himself returned to his master at

full gallop, neither sparing the rowels of his spurs nor the sides of

his horse. “You did; I saw you as plainly as I ever saw the auld kirk

at Coudingham.”

“You lie,” replied Callum, with his usual impenetrable obstinacy. The

combat between the knights would certainly, as in the days of chivalry,

have been preceded by an encounter between the squires (for Alick was a

stout-hearted Merseman, and feared the bow of Cupid far more than a

Highlander’s dirk or claymore), but Fergus, with his usual tone of

decision, demanded Callum’s pistol. The cock was down, the pan and

muzzle were black with the smoke; it had been that instant fired.

“Take that,” said Fergus, striking the boy upon the head with the heavy

pistol-butt with his whole force—“take that for acting without orders,

and lying to disguise it.” Callum received the blow without appearing

to flinch from it, and fell without sign of life. “Stand still, upon

your lives!” said Fergus to the rest of the clan; “I blow out the

brains of the first man who interferes between Mr. Waverley and me.”

They stood motionless; Evan Dhu alone showed symptoms of vexation and

anxiety. Callum lay on the ground bleeding copiously, but no one

ventured to give him any assistance. It seemed as if he had gotten his

death-blow.

“And now for you, Mr. Waverley; please to turn your horse twenty yards

with me upon the common.” Waverley complied; and Fergus, confronting

him when they were a little way from the line of march, said, with

great affected coolness, “I could not but wonder, sir, at the

fickleness of taste which you were pleased to express the other day.

But it was not an angel, as you justly observed, who had charms for

you, unless she brought an empire for her fortune. I have now an

excellent commentary upon that obscure text.”

“I am at a loss even to guess at your meaning, Colonel Mac-Ivor, unless

it seems plain that you intend to fasten a quarrel upon me.”

“Your affected ignorance shall not serve you, sir. The Prince—the

Prince himself has acquainted me with your manœuvres. I little thought

that your engagements with Miss Bradwardine were the reason of your

breaking off your intended match with my sister. I suppose the

information that the Baron had altered the destination of his estate

was quite a sufficient reason for slighting your friend’s sister and

carrying off your friend’s mistress.”

“Did the Prince tell you I was engaged to Miss Bradwardine?” said

Waverley. “Impossible.”

“He did, sir,” answered Mac-Ivor; “so, either draw and defend yourself

or resign your pretensions to the lady.”

“This is absolute madness,” exclaimed Waverley, “or some strange

mistake!”

“Oh, no evasion! draw your sword!” said the infuriated chieftain, his

own already unsheathed.

“Must I fight in a madman’s quarrel?”

“Then give up now, and forever, all pretensions to Miss Bradwardine’s

hand.”

“What title have you,” cried Waverley, utterly losing command of

himself—“what title have you, or any man living, to dictate such terms

to me?” And he also drew his sword.

At this moment the Baron of Bradwardine, followed by several of his

troop, came up on the spur, some from curiosity, others to take part in

the quarrel which they indistinctly understood had broken out between

the Mac-Ivors and their corps. The clan, seeing them approach, put

themselves in motion to support their Chieftain, and a scene of

confusion commenced which seamed likely to terminate in bloodshed. A

hundred tongues were in motion at once. The Baron lectured, the

Chieftain stormed, the Highlanders screamed in Gaelic, the horsemen

cursed and swore in Lowland Scotch. At length matters came to such a

pass that the Baron threatened to charge the Mac-Ivors unless they

resumed their ranks, and many of them, in return, presented their

firearms at him and the other troopers. The confusion was privately

fostered by old Ballenkeiroch, who made no doubt that his own day of

vengeance was arrived, when, behold! a cry arose of “Room! make way!

_place à Monseigneur! place à Monseigneur!_” This announced the

approach of the Prince, who came up with a party of Fitz-James’s

foreign dragoons that acted as his body-guard. His arrival produced

some degree of order. The Highlanders reassumed their ranks, the

cavalry fell in and formed squadron, and the Baron and Chieftain were

silent.

The Prince called them and Waverley before him. Having heard the

original cause of the quarrel through the villainy of Callum Beg, he

ordered him into custody of the provost-marshal for immediate

execution, in the event of his surviving the chastisement inflicted by

his Chieftain. Fergus, however, in a tone betwixt claiming a right and

asking a favour, requested he might be left to his disposal, and

promised his punishment should be exemplary. To deny this might have

seemed to encroach on the patriarchal authority of the Chieftains, of

which they were very jealous, and they were not persons to be

disobliged. Callum was therefore left to the justice of his own tribe.

The Prince next demanded to know the new cause of quarrel between

Colonel Mac-Ivor and Waverley. There was a pause. Both gentlemen found

the presence of the Baron of Bradwardine (for by this time all three

had approached the Chevalier by his command) an insurmountable barrier

against entering upon a subject where the name of his daughter must

unavoidably be mentioned. They turned their eyes on the ground, with

looks in which shame and embarrassment were mingled with displeasure.

The Prince, who had been educated amongst the discontented and mutinous

spirits of the court of St. Germains, where feuds of every kind were

the daily subject of solicitude to the dethroned sovereign, had served

his apprenticeship, as old Frederick of Prussia would have said, to the

trade of royalty. To promote or restore concord among his followers was

indispensable. Accordingly he took his measures.

“Monsieur de Beaujeu!”

“Monseigneur!” said a very handsome French cavalry officer who was in

attendance.

“Ayez la bonté d’aligner ces montagnards la, ainsi que la cavalerie,

s’il vous plait, et de les remettre a la marche. Vous parlez si bien

l’Anglois, cela ne vous donneroit pas beaucoup de peine.”

“Ah! pas du tout, Monseigneur,” replied Mons. le Comte de Beaujeu, his

head bending down to the neck of his little prancing highly-managed

charger. Accordingly he _piaffed_ away, in high spirits and confidence,

to the head of Fergus’s regiment, although understanding not a word of

Gaelic and very little English.

“Messieurs les sauvages Ecossais—dat is, gentilmans savages, have the

goodness d’arranger vous.”

The clan, comprehending the order more from the gesture than the words,

and seeing the Prince himself present, hastened to dress their ranks.

“Ah! ver well! dat is fort bien!” said the Comte de Beaujeu.

“Gentilmans sauvages! mais, très bien. Eh bien! Qu’est ce que vous

appelez visage, Monsieur?” (to a lounging trooper who stood by him).

“Ah, oui! _face_. Je vous remercie, Monsieur. Gentilshommes, have de

goodness to make de face to de right par file, dat is, by files. Marsh!

Mais, très bien; encore, Messieurs; il faut vous mettre à la marche.

Marchez donc, au nom de Dieu, parce que j’ai oublié le mot Anglais;

mais vous êtes des braves gens, et me comprenez très bien.”

The Count next hastened to put the cavalry in motion. “Gentilmans

cavalry, you must fall in. Ah! par ma foi, I did not say fall off! I am

a fear de little gross fat gentilman is moche hurt. Ah, mon Dieu! c’est

le Commissaire qui nous a apporté les premières nouvelles de ce maudit

fracas. Je suis trop faché, Monsieur!”

But poor Macwheeble, who, with a sword stuck across him, and a white

cockade as large as a pancake, now figured in the character of a

commissary, being overturned in the bustle occasioned by the troopers

hastening to get themselves in order in the Prince’s presence, before

he could rally his galloway, slunk to the rear amid the unrestrained

laughter of the spectators.

“Eh bien, Messieurs, wheel to de right. Ah! dat is it! Eh, Monsieur de

Bradwardine, ayez la bonté de vous mettre à la tête de votre régiment,

car, par Dieu, je n’en puis plus!”

The Baron of Bradwardine was obliged to go to the assistance of

Monsieur de Beaujeu, after he had fairly expended his few English

military phrases. One purpose of the Chevalier was thus answered. The

other he proposed was, that in the eagerness to hear and comprehend

commands issued through such an indistinct medium in his own presence,

the thoughts of the soldiers in both corps might get a current

different from the angry channel in which they were flowing at the

time.

Charles Edward was no sooner left with the Chieftain and Waverley, the

rest of his attendants being at some distance, than he said, “If I owed

less to your disinterested friendship, I could be most seriously angry

with both of you for this very extraordinary and causeless broil, at a

moment when my father’s service so decidedly demands the most perfect

unanimity. But the worst of my situation is, that my very best friends

hold they have liberty to ruin themselves, as well as the cause they

are engaged in, upon the slightest caprice.”

Both the young men protested their resolution to submit every

difference to his arbitration. “Indeed,” said Edward, “I hardly know of

what I am accused. I sought Colonel Mac-Ivor merely to mention to him

that I had narrowly escaped assassination at the hand of his immediate

dependent, a dastardly revenge which I knew him to be incapable of

authorising. As to the cause for which he is disposed to fasten a

quarrel upon me, I am ignorant of it, unless it be that he accuses me,

most unjustly, of having engaged the affections of a young lady in

prejudice of his pretensions.”

“If there is an error,” said the Chieftain, “it arises from a

conversation which I held this morning with his Royal Highness

himself.”

“With me?” said the Chevalier; “how can Colonel Mac-Ivor have so far

misunderstood me?”

He then led Fergus aside, and, after five minutes’ earnest

conversation, spurred his horse towards Edward. “Is it possible—nay,

ride up, Colonel, for I desire no secrets—is it possible, Mr. Waverley,

that I am mistaken in supposing that you are an accepted lover of Miss

Bradwardine? a fact of which I was by circumstances, though not by

communication from you, so absolutely convinced that I alleged it to

Vich Ian Vohr this morning as a reason why, without offence to him, you

might not continue to be ambitious of an alliance which, to an

unengaged person, even though once repulsed, holds out too many charms

to be lightly laid aside.”

“Your Royal Highness,” said Waverley, “must have founded on

circumstances altogether unknown to me, when you did me the

distinguished honour of supposing me an accepted lover of Miss

Bradwardine. I feel the distinction implied in the supposition, but I

have no title to it. For the rest, my confidence in my own merit is too

justly slight to admit of my hoping for success in any quarter after

positive rejection.”

The Chevalier was silent for a moment, looking steadily at them both,

and then said, “Upon my word, Mr. Waverley, you are a less happy man

than I conceived I had very good reason to believe you. But now,

gentlemen, allow me to be umpire in this matter, not as Prince Regent

but as Charles Stuart, a brother adventurer with you in the same

gallant cause. Lay my pretensions to be obeyed by you entirely out of

view, and consider your own honour, and how far it is well or becoming

to give our enemies the advantage and our friends the scandal of

showing that, few as we are, we are not united. And forgive me if I

add, that the names of the ladies who have been mentioned crave more

respect from us all than to be made themes of discord.”

He took Fergus a little apart and spoke to him very earnestly for two

or three minutes, and then returning to Waverley, said, “I believe I

have satisfied Colonel Mac-Ivor that his resentment was founded upon a

misconception, to which, indeed, I myself gave rise; and I trust Mr.

Waverley is too generous to harbour any recollection of what is past

when I assure him that such is the case. You must state this matter

properly to your clan, Vich Ian Vohr, to prevent a recurrence of their

precipitate violence.” Fergus bowed. “And now, gentlemen, let me have

the pleasure to see you shake hands.”

They advanced coldly, and with measured steps, each apparently

reluctant to appear most forward in concession. They did, however,

shake hands, and parted, taking a respectful leave of the Chevalier.

Charles Edward[37] then rode to the head of the Mac-Ivors, threw

himself from his horse, begged a drink out of old Ballenkeiroch’s

cantine, and marched about half a mile along with them, inquiring into

the history and connections of Sliochd nan Ivor, adroitly using the few

words of Gaelic he possessed, and affecting a great desire to learn it

more thoroughly. He then mounted his horse once more, and galloped to

the Baron’s cavalry, which was in front, halted them, and examined

their accoutrements and state of discipline; took notice of the

principal gentlemen, and even of the cadets; inquired after their

ladies, and commended their horses; rode about an hour with the Baron

of Bradwardine, and endured three long stories about Field-Marshal the

Duke of Berwick.

“Ah, Beaujeu, mon cher ami,” said he, as he returned to his usual place

in the line of march, “que mon métier de prince errant est ennuyant,

par fois. Mais, courage! c’est le grand jeu, après tout.”