Chương Chương 31 · AN EXAMINATION

. AN EXAMINATION

Major Melville of Cairnvreckan, an elderly gentleman, who had spent his

youth in the military service, received Mr. Morton with great kindness,

and our hero with civility, which the equivocal circumstances wherein

Edward was placed rendered constrained and distant.

The nature of the smith’s hurt was inquired into, and, as the actual

injury was likely to prove trifling, and the circumstances in which it

was received rendered the infliction on Edward’s part a natural act of

self-defence, the Major conceived he might dismiss that matter on

Waverley’s depositing in his hands a small sum for the benefit of the

wounded person.

“I could wish, sir,” continued the Major, “that my duty terminated

here; but it is necessary that we should have some further inquiry into

the cause of your journey through the country at this unfortunate and

distracted time.”

Mr. Ebenezer Cruickshanks now stood forth, and communicated to the

magistrate all he knew or suspected from the reserve of Waverley and

the evasions of Callum Beg. The horse upon which Edward rode, he said,

he knew to belong to Vich Ian Vohr, though he dared not tax Edward’s

former attendant with the fact, lest he should have his house and

stables burnt over his head some night by that godless gang, the

Mac-Ivors. He concluded by exaggerating his own services to kirk and

state, as having been the means, under God (as he modestly qualified

the assertion), of attaching this suspicious and formidable delinquent.

He intimated hopes of future reward, and of instant reimbursement for

loss of time, and even of character, by travelling on the state

business on the fast-day.

To this Major Melville answered, with great composure, that so far from

claiming any merit in this affair, Mr. Cruickshanks ought to deprecate

the imposition of a very heavy fine for neglecting to lodge, in terms

of the recent proclamation, an account with the nearest magistrate of

any stranger who came to his inn; that, as Mr. Cruickshanks boasted so

much of religion and loyalty, he should not impute this conduct to

disaffection, but only suppose that his zeal for kirk and state had

been lulled asleep by the opportunity of charging a stranger with

double horse-hire; that, however, feeling himself incompetent to decide

singly upon the conduct of a person of such importance, he should

reserve it for consideration of the next quarter-sessions. Now our

history for the present saith no more of him of the Candlestick, who

wended dolorous and malcontent back to his own dwelling.

Major Melville then commanded the villagers to return to their homes,

excepting two, who officiated as constables, and whom he directed to

wait below. The apartment was thus cleared of every person but Mr.

Morton, whom the Major invited to remain; a sort of factor, who acted

as clerk; and Waverley himself. There ensued a painful and embarrassed

pause, till Major Melville, looking upon Waverley with much compassion,

and often consulting a paper or memorandum which he held in his hand,

requested to know his name.

“Edward Waverley.”

“I thought so; late of the—dragoons, and nephew of Sir Everard Waverley

of Waverley-Honour?”

“The same.”

“Young gentleman, I am extremely sorry that this painful duty has

fallen to my lot.”

“Duty, Major Melville, renders apologies superfluous.”

“True, sir; permit me, therefore, to ask you how your time has been

disposed of since you obtained leave of absence from your regiment,

several weeks ago, until the present moment?”

“My reply,” said Waverley, “to so general a question must be guided by

the nature of the charge which renders it necessary. I request to know

what that charge is, and upon what authority I am forcibly detained to

reply to it?”

“The charge, Mr. Waverley, I grieve to say, is of a very high nature,

and affects your character both as a soldier and a subject. In the

former capacity you are charged with spreading mutiny and rebellion

among the men you commanded, and setting them the example of desertion,

by prolonging your own absence from the regiment, contrary to the

express orders of your commanding officer. The civil crime of which you

stand accused is that of high treason and levying war against the king,

the highest delinquency of which a subject can be guilty.”

“And by what authority am I detained to reply to such heinous

calumnies?”

“By one which you must not dispute, nor I disobey.”

He handed to Waverley a warrant from the Supreme Criminal Court of

Scotland, in full form, for apprehending and securing the person of

Edward Waverley, Esq., suspected of treasonable practices and other

high crimes and misdemeanours.

The astonishment which Waverley expressed at this communication was

imputed by Major Melville to conscious guilt, while Mr. Morton was

rather disposed to construe it into the surprise of innocence unjustly

suspected. There was something true in both conjectures; for although

Edward’s mind acquitted him of the crime with which he was charged, yet

a hasty review of his own conduct convinced him he might have great

difficulty in establishing his innocence to the satisfaction of others.

“It is a very painful part of this painful business,” said Major

Melville, after a pause, “that, under so grave a charge, I must

necessarily request to see such papers as you have on your person.”

“You shall, sir, without reserve,” said Edward, throwing his

pocket-book and memorandums upon the table; “there is but one with

which I could wish you would dispense.”

“I am afraid, Mr. Waverley, I can indulge you with no reservation,”

“You shall see it then, sir; and as it can be of no service, I beg it

may be returned.”

He took from his bosom the lines he had that morning received, and

presented them with the envelope. The Major perused them in silence,

and directed his clerk to make a copy of them. He then wrapped the copy

in the envelope, and placing it on the table before him, returned the

original to Waverley, with an air of melancholy gravity.

After indulging the prisoner, for such our hero must now be considered,

with what he thought a reasonable time for reflection, Major Melville

resumed his examination, premising that, as Mr. Waverley seemed to

object to general questions, his interrogatories should be as specific

as his information permitted. He then proceeded in his investigation,

dictating, as he went on, the import of the questions and answers to

the amanuensis, by whom it was written down.

“Did Mr. Waverley know one Humphry Houghton, a non-commissioned officer

in Gardiner’s dragoons?”

“Certainly; he was sergeant of my troop, and son of a tenant of my

uncle.”

“Exactly—and had a considerable share of your confidence, and an

influence among his comrades?”

“I had never occasion to repose confidence in a person of his

description,” answered Waverley. “I favoured Sergeant Houghton as a

clever, active young fellow, and I believe his fellow-soldiers

respected him accordingly.”

“But you used through this man,” answered Major Melville, “to

communicate with such of your troop as were recruited upon

Waverley-Honour?”

“Certainly; the poor fellows, finding themselves in a regiment chiefly

composed of Scotch or Irish, looked up to me in any of their little

distresses, and naturally made their countryman and sergeant their

spokesman on such occasions.”

“Sergeant Houghton’s influence,” continued the Major, “extended, then,

particularly over those soldiers who followed you to the regiment from

your uncle’s estate?”

“Surely; but what is that to the present purpose?”

“To that I am just coming, and I beseech your candid reply. Have you,

since leaving the regiment, held any correspondence, direct or

indirect, with this Sergeant Houghton?”

“I!—I hold correspondence with a man of his rank and situation! How, or

for what purpose?”

“That you are to explain. But did you not, for example, send to him for

some books?”

“You remind me of a trifling commission,” said Waverley, “which I gave

Sergeant Houghton, because my servant could not read. I do recollect I

bade him, by letter, select some books, of which I sent him a list, and

send them to me at Tully-Veolan.”

“And of what description were those books?”

“They related almost entirely to elegant literature; they were designed

for a lady’s perusal.”

“Were there not, Mr. Waverley, treasonable tracts and pamphlets among

them?”

“There were some political treatises, into which I hardly looked. They

had been sent to me by the officiousness of a kind friend, whose heart

is more to be esteemed than his prudence or political sagacity; they

seemed to be dull compositions.”

“That friend,” continued the persevering inquirer, “was a Mr. Pembroke,

a nonjuring clergyman, the author of two treasonable works, of which

the manuscripts were found among your baggage?”

“But of which, I give you my honour as a gentleman,” replied Waverley,

“I never read six pages.”

“I am not your judge, Mr. Waverley; your examination will be

transmitted elsewhere. And now to proceed. Do you know a person that

passes by the name of Wily Will, or Will Ruthven?”

“I never heard of such a name till this moment.”

“Did you never through such a person, or any other person, communicate

with Sergeant Humphry Houghton, instigating him to desert, with as many

of his comrades as he could seduce to join him, and unite with the

Highlanders and other rebels now in arms under the command of the Young

Pretender?”

“I assure you I am not only entirely guiltless of the plot you have

laid to my charge, but I detest it from the very bottom of my soul, nor

would I be guilty of such treachery to gain a throne, either for myself

or any other man alive.”

“Yet when I consider this envelope in the handwriting of one of those

misguided gentlemen who are now in arms against their country, and the

verses which it enclosed, I cannot but find some analogy between the

enterprise I have mentioned and the exploit of Wogan, which the writer

seems to expect you should imitate.”

Waverley was struck with the coincidence, but denied that the wishes or

expectations of the letter-writer were to be regarded as proofs of a

charge otherwise chimerical.

“But, if I am rightly informed, your time was spent, during your

absence from the regiment, between the house of this Highland Chieftain

and that of Mr. Bradwardine of Bradwardine, also in arms for this

unfortunate cause?”

“I do not mean to disguise it; but I do deny, most resolutely, being

privy to any of their designs against the government.”

“You do not, however, I presume, intend to deny that you attended your

host Glennaquoich to a rendezvous, where, under a pretence of a general

hunting match, most of the accomplices of his treason were assembled to

concert measures for taking arms?”

“I acknowledge having been at such a meeting,” said Waverley; “but I

neither heard nor saw anything which could give it the character you

affix to it.”

“From thence you proceeded,” continued the magistrate, “with

Glennaquoich and a part of his clan to join the army of the Young

Pretender, and returned, after having paid your homage to him, to

discipline and arm the remainder, and unite them to his bands on their

way southward?”

“I never went with Glennaquoich on such an errand. I never so much as

heard that the person whom you mention was in the country.”

He then detailed the history of his misfortune at the hunting match,

and added, that on his return he found himself suddenly deprived of his

commission, and did not deny that he then, for the first time, observed

symptoms which indicated a disposition in the Highlanders to take arms;

but added that, having no inclination to join their cause, and no

longer any reason for remaining in Scotland, he was now on his return

to his native country, to which he had been summoned by those who had a

right to direct his motions, as Major Melville would perceive from the

letters on the table.

Major Melville accordingly perused the letters of Richard Waverley, of

Sir Everard, and of Aunt Rachel; but the inferences he drew from them

were different from what Waverley expected. They held the language of

discontent with government, threw out no obscure hints of revenge, and

that of poor Aunt Rachel, which plainly asserted the justice of the

Stuart cause, was held to contain the open avowal of what the others

only ventured to insinuate.

“Permit me another question, Mr. Waverley,” said Major Melville. “Did

you not receive repeated letters from your commanding officer, warning

you and commanding you to return to your post, and acquainting you with

the use made of your name to spread discontent among your soldiers?”

“I never did, Major Melville. One letter, indeed, I received from him,

containing a civil intimation of his wish that I would employ my leave

of absence otherwise than in constant residence at Bradwardine, as to

which, I own, I thought he was not called on to interfere; and,

finally, I received, on the same day on which I observed myself

superseded in the “Gazette,” a second letter from Colonel Gardiner,

commanding me to join the regiment, an order which, owing to my

absence, already mentioned and accounted for, I received too late to be

obeyed. If there were any intermediate letters, and certainly from the

Colonel’s high character I think it probable that there were, they have

never reached me.”

“I have omitted, Mr. Waverley,” continued Major Melville, “to inquire

after a matter of less consequence, but which has nevertheless been

publicly talked of to your disadvantage. It is said that a treasonable

toast having been proposed in your hearing and presence, you, holding

his Majesty’s commission, suffered the task of resenting it to devolve

upon another gentleman of the company. This, sir, cannot be charged

against you in a court of justice; but if, as I am informed, the

officers of your regiment requested an explanation of such a rumour, as

a gentleman and soldier I cannot but be surprised that you did not

afford it to them.”

This was too much. Beset and pressed on every hand by accusations, in

which gross falsehoods were blended with such circumstances of truth as

could not fail to procure them credit,—alone, unfriended, and in a

strange land, Waverley almost gave up his life and honour for lost,

and, leaning his head upon his hand, resolutely refused to answer any

further questions, since the fair and candid statement he had already

made had only served to furnish arms against him.

Without expressing either surprise or displeasure at the change in

Waverley’s manner, Major Melville proceeded composedly to put several

other queries to him.

“What does it avail me to answer you?” said Edward sullenly. “You

appear convinced of my guilt, and wrest every reply I have made to

support your own preconceived opinion. Enjoy your supposed triumph,

then, and torment me no further. If I am capable of the cowardice and

treachery your charge burdens me with, I am not worthy to be believed

in any reply I can make to you. If I am not deserving of your

suspicion—and God and my own conscience bear evidence with me that it

is so—then I do not see why I should, by my candour, lend my accusers

arms against my innocence. There is no reason I should answer a word

more, and I am determined to abide by this resolution.”

And again he resumed his posture of sullen and determined silence.

“Allow me,” said the magistrate, “to remind you of one reason that may

suggest the propriety of a candid and open confession. The inexperience

of youth, Mr. Waverley, lays it open to the plans of the more designing

and artful; and one of your friends at least—I mean Mac-Ivor of

Glennaquoich—ranks high in the latter class, as, from your apparent

ingenuousness, youth, and unacquaintance with the manners of the

Highlands, I should be disposed to place you among the former. In such

a case, a false step or error like yours, which I shall be happy to

consider as involuntary, may be atoned for, and I would willingly act

as intercessor. But, as you must necessarily be acquainted with the

strength of the individuals in this country who have assumed arms, with

their means and with their plans, I must expect you will merit this

mediation on my part by a frank and candid avowal of all that has come

to your knowledge upon these heads; in which case, I think I can

venture to promise that a very short personal restraint will be the

only ill consequence that can arise from your accession to these

unhappy intrigues.”

Waverley listened with great composure until the end of this

exhortation, when, springing from his seat with an energy he had not

yet displayed, he replied, “Major Melville, since that is your name, I

have hitherto answered your questions with candour, or declined them

with temper, because their import concerned myself alone; but, as you

presume to esteem me mean enough to commence informer against others,

who received me, whatever may be their public misconduct, as a guest

and friend, I declare to you that I consider your questions as an

insult infinitely more offensive than your calumnious suspicions; and

that, since my hard fortune permits me no other mode of resenting them

than by verbal defiance, you should sooner have my heart out of my

bosom than a single syllable of information on subjects which I could

only become acquainted with in the full confidence of unsuspecting

hospitality.”

Mr. Morton and the Major looked at each other; and the former, who, in

the course of the examination, had been repeatedly troubled with a

sorry rheum, had recourse to his snuff-box and his handkerchief.

“Mr. Waverley,” said the Major, “my present situation prohibits me

alike from giving or receiving offence, and I will not protract a

discussion which approaches to either. I am afraid I must sign a

warrant for detaining you in custody, but this house shall for the

present be your prison. I fear I cannot persuade you to accept a share

of our supper?—(Edward shook his head)—but I will order refreshments in

your apartment.”

Our hero bowed and withdrew, under guard of the officers of justice, to

a small but handsome room, where, declining all offers of food or wine,

he flung himself on the bed, and, stupified by the harassing events and

mental fatigue of this miserable day, he sunk into a deep and heavy

slumber. This was more than he himself could have expected; but it is

mentioned of the North-American Indians, when at the stake of torture,

that on the least intermission of agony they will sleep until the fire

is applied to awaken them.