Chương Chương 56 · EXERTION

. EXERTION

When Colonel Talbot entered the breakfast-parlour next morning, he

learned from Waverley’s servant that our hero had been abroad at an

early hour and was not yet returned. The morning was well advanced

before he again appeared. He arrived out of breath, but with an air of

joy that astonished Colonel Talbot.

“There,” said he, throwing a paper on the table, “there is my morning’s

work. Alick, pack up the Colonel’s clothes. Make haste, make haste.”

The Colonel examined the paper with astonishment. It was a pass from

the Chevalier to Colonel Talbot, to repair to Leith, or any other port

in possession of his Royal Highness’s troops, and there to embark for

England or elsewhere, at his free pleasure; he only giving his parole

of honour not to bear arms against the house of Stuart for the space of

a twelve-month.

“In the name of God,” said the Colonel, his eyes sparkling with

eagerness, “how did you obtain this?”

“I was at the Chevalier’s levee as soon as he usually rises. He was

gone to the camp at Duddingston. I pursued him thither, asked and

obtained an audience—but I will tell you not a word more, unless I see

you begin to pack.”

“Before I know whether I can avail myself of this passport, or how it

was obtained?”

“O, you can take out the things again, you know. Now I see you busy, I

will go on. When I first mentioned your name, his eyes sparkled almost

as bright as yours did two minutes since. ‘Had you,’ he earnestly

asked, ‘shown any sentiments favourable to his cause?’ ‘Not in the

least, nor was there any hope you would do so.’ His countenance fell. I

requested your freedom. ‘Impossible,’ he said; ‘your importance as a

friend and confidant of such and such personages made my request

altogether extravagant.’ I told him my own story and yours; and asked

him to judge what my feelings must be by his own. He has a heart, and a

kind one, Colonel Talbot, you may say what you please. He took a sheet

of paper and wrote the pass with his own hand. ‘I will not trust myself

with my council,’ he said; ‘they will argue me out of what is right. I

will not endure that a friend, valued as I value you, should be loaded

with the painful reflections which must afflict you in case of further

misfortune in Colonel Talbot’s family; nor will I keep a brave enemy a

prisoner under such circumstances. Besides,’ said he, ‘I think I can

justify myself to my prudent advisers by pleading the good effect such

lenity will produce on the minds of the great English families with

whom Colonel Talbot is connected.’”

“There the politician peeped out,” said the Colonel.

“Well, at least he concluded like a king’s son: ‘Take the passport; I

have added a condition for form’s sake; but if the Colonel objects to

it, let him depart without giving any parole whatever. I come here to

war with men, but not to distress or endanger women.’”

“Well, I never thought to have been so much indebted to the Pretend—”

“To the Prince,” said Waverley, smiling.

“To the Chevalier,” said the Colonel; “it is a good travelling name,

and which we may both freely use. Did he say anything more?”

“Only asked if there was anything else he could oblige me in; and when

I replied in the negative, he shook me by the hand, and wished all his

followers were as considerate, since some friends of mine not only

asked all he had to bestow, but many things which were entirely out of

his power, or that of the greatest sovereign upon earth. Indeed, he

said, no prince seemed, in the eyes of his followers, so like the Deity

as himself, if you were to judge from the extravagant requests which

they daily preferred to him.”

“Poor young gentleman,” said the Colonel, “I suppose he begins to feel

the difficulties of his situation. Well, dear Waverley, this is more

than kind, and shall not be forgotten while Philip Talbot can remember

anything. My life—pshaw—let Emily thank you for that; this is a favour

worth fifty lives. I cannot hesitate on giving my parole in the

circumstances; there it is (he wrote it out in form). And now, how am I

to get off?”

“All that is settled: your baggage is packed, my horses wait, and a

boat has been engaged, by the Prince’s permission, to put you on board

the ‘Fox’ frigate. I sent a messenger down to Leith on purpose.”

“That will do excellently well. Captain Beaver is my particular friend;

he will put me ashore at Berwick or Shields, from whence I can ride

post to London; and you must entrust me with the packet of papers which

you recovered by means of your Miss Bean Lean. I may have an

opportunity of using them to your advantage. But I see your Highland

friend, Glen—— what do you call his barbarous name? and his orderly

with him; I must not call him his orderly cut-throat any more, I

suppose. See how he walks as if the world were his own, with the bonnet

on one side of his head and his plaid puffed out across his breast! I

should like now to meet that youth where my hands were not tied: I

would tame his pride, or he should tame mine.”

“For shame, Colonel Talbot! you swell at sight of tartan as the bull is

said to do at scarlet. You and Mac-Ivor have some points not much

unlike, so far as national prejudice is concerned.”

The latter part of this discourse took place in the street. They passed

the Chief, the Colonel and he sternly and punctiliously greeting each

other, like two duellists before they take their ground. It was evident

the dislike was mutual. “I never see that surly fellow that dogs his

heels,” said the Colonel, after he had mounted his horse, “but he

reminds me of lines I have somewhere heard—upon the stage, I think:—

Close behind him

Stalks sullen Bertram, like a sorcerer’s fiend,

Pressing to be employed.

“I assure you, Colonel,” said Waverley, “that you judge too harshly of

the Highlanders.”

“Not a whit, not a whit; I cannot spare them a jot; I cannot bate them

an ace. Let them stay in their own barren mountains, and puff and

swell, and hang their bonnets on the horns of the moon, if they have a

mind; but what business have they to come where people wear breeches,

and speak an intelligible language? I mean intelligible in comparison

to their gibberish, for even the Lowlanders talk a kind of English

little better than the Negroes in Jamaica. I could pity the Pr——, I

mean the, Chevalier himself, for having so many desperadoes about him.

And they learn their trade so early. There is a kind of subaltern imp,

for example, a sort of sucking devil, whom your friend Glena——

Glenamuck there, has sometimes in his train. To look at him, he is

about fifteen years; but he is a century old in mischief and villainy.

He was playing at quoits the other day in the court; a gentleman, a

decent-looking person enough, came past, and as a quoit hit his shin,

he lifted his cane; but my young bravo whips out his pistol, like Beau

Clincher in the “Trip to the Jubilee,” and had not a scream of Gardez

l’eau from an upper window set all parties a-scampering for fear of the

inevitable consequences, the poor gentleman would have lost his life by

the hands of that little cockatrice.”

“A fine character you’ll give of Scotland upon your return, Colonel

Talbot.”

“O, Justice Shallow,” said the Colonel, “will save me the

trouble—“Barren, barren, beggars all, beggars all. Marry, good

air,”—and that only when you are fairly out of Edinburgh, and not yet

come to Leith, as is our case at present.”

In a short time they arrived at the seaport.

The boat rocked at the pier of Leith,

Full loud the wind blew down the ferry;

The ship rode at the Berwick Law—

“Farewell, Colonel; may you find all as you would wish it! Perhaps we

may meet sooner than you expect; they talk of an immediate route to

England.”

“Tell me nothing of that,” said Talbot; “I wish to carry no news of

your motions.”

“Simply, then, adieu. Say, with a thousand kind greetings, all that is

dutiful and affectionate to Sir Everard and Aunt Rachel. Think of me as

kindly as you can, speak of me as indulgently as your conscience will

permit, and once more adieu.”

“And adieu, my dear Waverley; many, many thanks for your kindness.

Unplaid yourself on the first opportunity. I shall ever think on you

with gratitude, and the worst of my censure shall be, Que diable

alloit-il faire dans cette galère?”

And thus they parted, Colonel Talbot going on board of the boat and

Waverley returning to Edinburgh.