Red Cap Tales | Page 7

Bradwardine appeared, striding toward them as if he had
possessed himself of the giant's seven-league boots. Bradwardine was a
tall, thin, soldierly man, who in his time had seen much of the world,
and who under a hard and even stern exterior, hid a heart naturally
warm.
He was much given to the singing of French songs and to making long
and learned Latin quotations. And indeed he quoted Latin, even with
the tears standing in his eyes, as he first shook Edward by the hand and
then embraced him in the foreign fashion on both cheeks--all to express
the immense pleasure it was to receive in his house of Tully-Veolan "a
worthy scion of the old stock of Waverley-Honour."
While Miss Rose ran off to make some changes in her dress, the Baron
conducted Edward into a hall hung about with pikes and armour. Four
or five servants, in old-fashioned livery, received them with honour, the
majordomo at their head. The butler-gardener was not to be caught
napping a second time.
Bradwardine took Captain Waverley at once into an old dining room all
panelled with black oak, round the walls of which hung pictures of

former chiefs of the line of Tully-Veolan. Somewhere out-of-doors a
bell was ringing to announce the arrival of other guests, and Edward
observed with some interest that the table was laid for six people. In
such a desolate country it seemed difficult to imagine where they
would arrive from.
Upon this point Edward soon received enlightenment. First, there was
the Laird of Balmawhapple,--"a discreet young gentleman," said the
Baron, "much given to field sports." Next came the Laird of
Killancureit, who cultivated his own fields and cared for his own
cattle--thereby (quoth the Baron) showing the commonness of his
origin. Added to these were a "non-juring" Episcopal minister--that is,
one who had refused to take the oaths of allegiance to King George's
government, and, last of all, the "Baron-Bailie" or land-steward of
Bradwardine, one Mr. Macwheeble.
This last, to show his consciousness of his inferior position, seated
himself as far as possible from the table, and as often as he wanted to
eat, he bent himself nearly double over his plate, in the shape of a
clasp-knife about to shut. When dinner was over, Rose and the
clergyman discreetly retired, when, with a sign to the butler, the Baron
of Bradwardine produced out of a locked case a golden cup called the
Blessed Bear of Bradwardine, in which first the host and then all the
company pledged the health of the young English stranger. After a
while, the Baron and Edward set out to see their guests a certain
distance on their way, going with them down the avenue to the village
"change-house" or inn, where Balmawhapple and Killancureit had
stabled their horses.
Edward, being weary, would much rather have found himself in bed,
but this desertion of good company the Baron would noways allow. So
under the low cobwebbed roof of Lucky Macleary's kitchen the four
gentlemen sat down to "taste the sweets of the night." But it was not
long before the wine began to do its work in their heads. Each one of
them, Edward excepted, talked or sang without paying any attention to
his fellows. From wine they fell to politics, when Balmawhapple
proposed a toast which was meant to put an affront upon the uniform

Edward wore, and the King in whose army he served.
"To the little gentleman in black velvet," cried the young Laird, "he
who did such service in 1702, and may the white horse break his neck
over a mound of his making!"
The "little gentleman in black velvet" was the mole over whose hillock
King William's horse is said to have stumbled, while the "white horse"
represented the house of Hanover.
Though of a Jacobite family, Edward could not help taking offence at
the obvious insult, but the Baron was before him. The quarrel was not
his, he assured him. The guest's quarrel was the host's--so long as he
remained under his roof.
"Here," quoth the Baron, "I am in loco parentis to you, Captain
Waverley. I am bound to see you scatheless. And as for you, Mr.
Falconer of Balmawhapple, I warn you to let me see no more
aberrations from the paths of good manners."
"And I tell you, Mr. Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine of Bradwardine and
Tully-Veolan," retorted the other, in huge disdain, "that I will make a
muir cock of the man that refuses my toast, whether he be a crop-eared
English Whig wi' a black ribband at his lug, or ane wha deserts his
friends to claw favour wi' the rats of Hanover!"
In an instant rapiers were out, and the Baron and Balmawhapple hard at
it. The younger man was stout