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of the backslidings of the land; ay, your honour touches the root o' the matter."
“Friend,” said Gilfillan, with a more complacent voice than he had hitherto used, “honour not me. I do not go out to parkdikes, and to steadings, and to market towns, to have herds and cottars, and burghers pull off their bonnets me as they do to Major Melville o' Cairnyreckan, and ca' me laird, or captain, or honour — no; my sma' means, whilk are not aboon twenty thousapd merk, have had the blessing of increase, but the pride of my heart has not increased with them; nor do I delight to be called captain, though I have the subscribed commission of that gospelsearching nobleman, the Earl of Glencairn, in whilk I am so designated. While I live, I am and will be called Habakkuk Gilfillan, who will stand up for the standards of doctrine agreed on by the ance-famous Kirk of Scotland, before she trafficked with the accursed Achan, while he has a plack in his purse, or a drap o'bluid in his body.”
“Ah,” said the pedlar, “I have seen your land about Mauchlin a fertile spot! your lines have fallen in pleasant places ! And siccan a breed o' cattle is not in ony laird's land in Scotland.”
“Ye say right, ye say right, friend,” retorted Gilfillan eagerly, for he was not inaccessible to flattery upon this subject,
“Ye say right; they are the real Lancashire, and there's no the like o' them even at the Mains of Kilmaurs;" and he then entered into a discussion of their excellencies, to which our readers will probably be as indifferent as our hero. After this cxcursion, the leader returned to his theological discussions, while the pedlar, less profound upon those mystic points, contented himself with groaning, and expressing his edification at suitable intervals.
“What a blessing it would be to the puir blinded popish nations among whom I had sojourned, to have siccan a light to their paths! I hae been as far as Muscovia in my sma' trading way, a travelling merchant; and I hae been through France, and the Low Countries, and a' Poland, and maist feck o' Germany, and 0! it would grieve your honour's soul to see the murmuring, and the singing, and massing that's in the kirk, and the piping that 's
in the quire, and the heathenish dancing and dicing upon the Sabbath!”
This set Gilfillan off upon the Book of Sports and the Covenant, and the Engagers, and the Protesters, and the Vhiggamores' Raid, and the Assembly of Divines at Westminster, and the Longer and Shorter Catechism, and the Excommunication at Torwood, and the slaughter of Archbishop Sharp. This last topic, again, led him into the lawfulness of defensive arms, on which subject he uttered much more sense than could have been expected from some other parts of his harangue, and attracted even Waverley's attention, who had hitherto been lost in his own sad reflections. Mr. Gilfillan then considered the lawfulness of a private man's standing forth as the avenger of public oppression, and as he was labouring with great earnestness the cause of Mas James Mitchell, who fired at the Archbishop of Saint Andrews some years before the prelate's assassination on Magus Muir, an incident occurred which interrupted bis harangue.
The rays of the sun were lingering on the very verge of the horizon, as the party ascended a hollow and somewhat steep path, which led to the summit of a rising ground. The country was unenclosed, being part of a very extensive heath or common; but it was far from level, exhibiting in many places hollows filled with furze and broom; in others, little dingles of stunted brushwood. A thicket of the latter description crowned the hill up which the party ascended. The foremost of the band, being the stoutest and most active, had pushed on, and, having surmounted the ascent, were out of ken for the present. Gilfillan, with the pedlar, and the small party who were Waverley's more immediate guard, were near the top of the ascent, and the remainder straggled after them at a considerable interval.
Such was the situation of matters, when the pedlar, missing, as he said, a little doggie which belonged to him, began to halt und whistle for the animal. This signal, repeated more than once, gave offence to the rigour of his companion, the rather because it appeared to indicate inattention to the treasures of theological and controversial knowledge which was pouring out for his edification,
He therefore signified grufly that he could not waste his time in waiting for an useless cur.
“But if your honour wad consider the case of Tobit" .
“Tobit!” exclaimed Gilfillan with great heat; “Tobit and his dog baith are altogether heathenish and apocryphal, and none but a prelatist or a papist would draw them into question. I doubt ] hae been mista'en in you, friend."
“Very likely," answered the pedlar, with great composure; “but ne'ertheless, I shall take leave to whistle again upon puir Bawty."
This last signal was answered in an unexpected manner; for six or eight stout Highlanders, who lurked among the copse and brushwood, sprung into the hollow way, and began to lay about them with their claymores. Gilfillan, unappalled at this undesirable apparition, cried out manfully, “The sword of the Lord and of Gideon!" and, drawing his broadsword, would probably have done as much credit to the good old cause as any of its doughty champions at Drumclog, when, behold! the pedlar, snatching a musket from the person who was next him, bestowed the but of it with such emphasis on the head of his late instructor in the Cameronian creed, that he was forth with levelled to the ground. In the confusion which ensued, the horse which bore our hero was shot by one of Gilbllan's party, as he discharged his firelock at random. Waverley fell with, and indeed under, the animal, and sustained some severe contusions. But he was almost instantly extricated from the fallen steed by two Highlanders, who, each seizing him by the arm, hurried him away from the scullle and from the high-road. They ran with great speed, half supporting and half dragging our hero, who could, however, distinguish a few dropping shots fired about the spot which he bad left. This, as he afterwards learned, proceeded from Gilfillan's party, who had now assembled, the stragglers in front and rear having joined the others. At their approach the Highlanders drew off, but not before they had rifled Gilgilan and tro of his people, who remained on the spot grierously wounded. A few shots were exchanged betwist them and the Westlanders; but the latter, now without a commander, and apprehensive of a
second ambush, did not make any serious effort to recover their prisoner, judging it more wise to proceed on their journey to Stirling, carrying with them their wounded captain and comrades.
Waverley is still in Distress. The velocily, and indeed violence, with which Waverley was hurried along, nearly deprived him of sensation; for the injury he had received from his fall prevented him from aiding himself so effectually as he might otherwise have done. When this was observed by his conductors, they called to their aid two or three others of the party, and swathing our hero's body in one of their plaids, divided his weight by that means among them, and transported him at the same rapid rate as before, without any exertion of his own. They spoke little, and that in Gaelic; and did not slacken their pace till they had run nearly two miles, when they abated their extreme rapidity, but continued still to walk very fast, relieving each other occasionally.
Our hero now endeavoured to address them, but was only answered with “Cha n'eil Beurl agam," i. e. “I have no English,” being, as Waverley well knew, the constant reply of a Highlander, when he either does not understand, or does not choose to reply to, an Englishman or Lowlander. He then mentioned the name of Vich Ian Vohr, concluding that he was indebted to his friendship for his rescue from the clutches of Gifted Gilfillan; but neither did this produce any mark of recognition from his escort.
The twilight had given place to moonshine when the party halted upon the brink of a precipitous glen, which, as partly enlighted by the moonbeams, seemed full of trees and tangled brushwood. Two of the Highlanders dived into it by a small foot-path, as if to explore its recesses, and one of them returning in a few minutes, said something to his companions, who instantly raised their burden, and bore him, with great attention
down the narrow and abrupt descent. Notwithstanding their precautions, however, Waverley's person came more than Waverley,
once into contact, rudely enough, with the projecting stumps and branches which overhung the pathway.
At the bottom of the descent, and, as it seemed, by the side of a brook, (for Waverley heard the rushing of a considerable body of water, although its stream was invisible in the darkness,) the party again stopped before a small and rudely-constructed hovel. The door was open, and the inside of the premises appeared as uncomfortable and rude as its situation and exterior foreboded. There was no appearance of a floor of any kind; the roof seemed rent in several places; the walls were composed of loose stones and turf, and the thatch of branches of trees. The fire was in the centre, and filled the whole wigwam with smoke, which escaped as much through the door as by means of a circular aperture in the roof. An old Highland sibyl, the only inhabitant of this forlorn mansion, appeared busy the preparation of some food. By the light which the fire afforded, Waverley could discover that his attendants were not of the clan of Ivor, for Fergus was particularly strict in requiring from his followers that they should wear the tartan striped in the mode peculiar to their race; a mark of distinction anciently general through the Highlands, and still maintained by those Chiefs who were proud of their lineage, or jealous of their separate and exclusive authority.
Edward had lived at Glennaquoich long enough to be aware of a distinction which he had repeatedly heard noticed, and now satisfied that he had no interest with his attendants, he glanced a disconsolate eye around the interior of the cabin. The only furniture, excepting a washing-tub, and a wooden press, called in Scotland an ambry, sorely decayed, was a large wooden bed, planked, as is usual, all around, and opening by a sliding panel. In this recess the Highlanders deposited Waverley, after he had' by signs declined any refreshment. His slumbers were broken and unrefreshing; strange visions passed before his eyes, and it required constant and reiterated efforts of mind to dispel them. Shivering, violent headache, and shooting pains in his limbs, succeeded these symptoms; and in the morning it was evident to his Highland attendants or guard, for he knew not